WILD  WINGS 


Page  14 


"  I  'M    ALL    READY    NOW  " 


WI  LD  WINGS 


a  Camera^wnter  among  t^e  larger 
of  $ortl  america  on    >ea  anti  Lana 


X 


BY 


HERBERT  KEIGHTLEY  JOB 

Aiithor  of  "-Among the  Water-Fowl" 
Member  of  The  American  Ornithologists'  Union,  etc. 


WITH   AN   INTRODUCTORY    LETTER 
BY   THEODORE   ROOSEVELT 


WITH   ONE   HUNDRED   AND   SIXTY  ILLUS- 
TRATIONS AFTER  PHOTOGRAPHS  FROM  LIFE 
BY  THE  AUTHOR 


HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  &  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK  C.  THE 
RIVERSIDE  PRESS  CAMBRIDGE 


COPYRIGHT   1905   BY   HERBERT   K.  JOB 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  May  IQO$ 


€o  mp 


IN  LOVING  RECOGNITION  OF   HER  MANY 
ANXIETIES    FOR    A    ROVING    NATURALIST 

bolume 


KITTIWAKES   AND    A    GANNET,    NORTH    BIRD    ROCK 

"STRONG  WINGS  MAKE  THEM  MASTERS  OF  THE  ELEMENTS" 


PREFACE 

THE  above  picture  may  serve  to  suggest  the  feelings 
which  have  animated  me   in  securing  the  contents 
of  this  volume,  of  enthusiastic  love  of  the  out-door 
world  and  keen  delight  in  its  free,  wild  life,  —  a  spirit  which 
I  hope  may  not  have  been  too  fugitive  to  bear  the  transfer 
from  nature  to  the  printed  page.    It  is  a  scene  instinct  with  life. 
Forth  from  the  wave-lashed  cliff  and  out  over  the  heaving, 
restless  deep  fly  the  wild,  hardy  birds  of  the  sea.    As  they 
launch  into  the  cold  breeze  which  sweeps  over  the  lonely 
northern  ocean  and  wheel  off  before  it  with  careless  abandon, 


Vlll 


PREFACE 


uttering  their  shrill  cries,  which  are  softened  in  the  undertone 
of  the  surf,  strong  wings  make  them  masters  of  the  elements. 
How  I  thrill  as  I  watch  them  !  They  and  their  lone  surround- 
ings are  the  unsullied  handiwork  of  God.  No  trace  is  here 
of  man's  vandalism ;  the  wildness  of  the  scene  might  well 
have  been  matched  at  Creation's  dawn. 

I  cannot  adequately  explain  the  fascination  which  the  wild 
birds  have  for  me,  and,  in  these  days,  for  an  increasing  multi- 
tude of  people.  Is  it  their  flight,  so  mysterious  even  yet  to 
us,  their  grace  and  beauty,  their  fulness  of  abounding  life,  the 
interest  of  their  nesting,  the  charm  of  their  varied  surround- 
ings, the  exhilaration  of  the  quest  which  lures  us  forth  into 
the  open  ?  It  is  all  these  and  more,  and  fortunate  are  they 
who  feel  the  thrill  of  enthusiasm  for  nature  and  in  nature,  be 
the  special  interest  birds  or  whatsoever  it  may.  In  this  age 
of  strain  and  stress  some  pleasant  incentive  is  needed  to 
drive  us  from  our  toil  and  give  the  exercise  in  the  pure  open 
air  which  is  absolutely  essential  to  health  and  vigor.  Added 
years  and  serenity  of  soul  are  the  reward. 

Of  all  the  various  out-door  recreations  which  I  have  tried, 
when  it  comes  to  genuine,  exciting  sport,  give  me  himting 
with  the  camera.  In  past  years  I  have  tried  shooting  and 
collecting,  but  this  new  hunting  entirely  outclasses  them.  It 
requires  more  skill  than  shooting,  and  hence  is  a  finer  sport. 
The  results  are  of  more  interest  and  value,  and,  withal,  the 
lives  of  the  wild  creatures  are  spared  for  our  further  pleasure. 
This  hunting  is  in  season  the  year  round,  every  living  thing 
is  proper  "  game,"  and  the  sport  may  be  enjoyed  by  men  and 
women  alike.  One  may  use  both  gun  and  camera,  if  desired. 


PREFACE  ix 

In  my  own  case,  at  first  both  were  used,  but,  finding  camera- 
hunting  the  more  interesting  and  exciting,  I  gradually  lost 
the  inclination  to  shoot.  Of  course  it  is  far  better  to  per- 
form the  whole  photographic  process  one's  self.  This  is  part 
of  the  sport,  and  is  a  delightful  amusement  for  days  or  even- 
ings at  home.  The  excitement  of  developing  a  plate  which 
records  a  hard-earned  shot  is  almost  as  great  as  in  making 
the  shot  itself. 

If  I  am  asked  to  advise  upon  the  choice  of  a  camera, 
I  recommend  the  size  which  employs  a  4  x  5-inch  plate.  The 
beginner  had  better  secure  a  lightly  built  focusing  instru- 
ment, of  any  reputable  make,  a  model  sometimes  known  as 
"  cycle  style,"  having  a  draw  of  bellows,  for  this  size,  of  at 
least  sixteen  inches.  A  good,  yet  inexpensive  rapid  recti- 
linear doublet  lens  will  suffice,  one  which  covers  the  whole 
plate  sharply.  The  lens  designed  for  the  next  larger  size  of 
plate  is  preferable,  as  it  secures  a  larger  image  of  the  game 
at  a  given  distance.  After  mastering  the  rudiments,  if  one 
then  decide  to  follow  up  the  sport,  it  will  be  time  enough  to 
secure  a  camera  of  the  "  reflex  "  or  reflecting  type,  with  its 
ingenious  mirror  arrangement,  the  swift  focal-plane  shutter, 
and  a  rapid  lens.  This  fine  battery  is  adapted  to  photo- 
graphing birds  in  flight,  and  the  like,  but  is  at  present, 
unfortunately,  expensive.  As  to  the  actual  using  of  these 
cameras  and  their  accessories,  I  have  tried  to  make  brief 
suggestions  by  concrete  cases  through  the  pages  which  fol- 
low. Various  treatises  upon  the  subject  by  others  make  it 
unnecessary  for  me  here  to  attempt  detailed  and  technical 
explanations. 


x  PREFACE 

On  the  principal  outing  trips,  hereafter  described,  I  have 
been  happy  in  my  companions.  Usually  these  were  C.  S. 
Day,  of  Boston,  and  A.  C.  Bent,  of  Taunton,  Massachusetts, 
and  occasionally  Dr.  L.  B.  Bishop,  of  New  Haven,  Con- 
necticut, or  Dr.  E.  E.  Murphey,  of  Augusta,  Georgia.  All 
are  fellow  members  with  me  of  the  American  Ornithologists' 
Union.  They  are  familiar  with  all  my  methods,  and  have 
shared  with  me  the  excitement  of  the  taking  of  many  of  my 
most  successful  pictures.  The  presence  of  responsible  wit- 
nesses in  hunting  with  the  camera  is  not  unimportant  in 
these  days,  when  the  recognized  value  of  successful  camera- 
shots  leads  so  many  of  the  unscrupulous  to  attempt  short 
cuts  to  success  that  there  is  often  need  of  careful  scrutiny 
to  distinguish  the  tares  from  the  wheat. 

Most  of  the  following  chapters  have  been  used,  with  more 
or  less  variation,  as  articles  in  "  Outing  "  and  "  Country  Life 
in  America,"  and  one  in  "  The  Twentieth  Century  Home," 
but  many  of  the  illustrations  have  never  yet  been  published. 

Every  lover  of  birds  realizes  the  great  need  there  is  for 
their  protection.  For  the  accomplishment  of  this  end,  organ- 
ization is  absolutely  essential,  and  it  has  been  secured  in  the 
forming  and  recent  incorporation  of  "  The  National  Associa- 
tion of  Audubon  Societies  for  the  Protection  of  Wild  Birds 
and  Animals,"  under  the  laws  of  the  State  of  New  York. 
Largely  through  its  agency,  with  the  cooperation  of  right- 
minded  sportsmen,  excellent  laws  have  been  passed  in  most 
of  the  states  of  the  Union.  Through  the  untiring  agency  of 
its  president,  Mr.  William  Dutcher,  some  money  has  been 
raised  and  wardens  have  been  hired  to  guard  certain  great 


PREFACE  xi 

colonies  of  water-birds,  from  Maine  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and 
elsewhere.  Some  of  these  breeding-resorts,  through  the  repre- 
sentations of  this  association,  have  been  set  off  as  government 
reservations  by  President  Roosevelt,  than  whom  the  birds 
have  no  more  friendly  protector. 

It  is  a  delightful  experience  for  one  who  loves  the  birds  to 
visit  these  protected  colonies,  once  nearly  annihilated  for  the 
millinery  market,  or  in  wantonness,  but  now  swarming  with 
bird-life.  Other  localities  are  still  suffering  in  the  same  way 
as  did  these,  largely  because  the  " sinews  of  war"  have  not 
been  supplied  for  their  protection.  Here  is  a  great  economic 
and  humanitarian  movement  which  consecrated  wealth  has 
hitherto  overlooked.  If  it  could  be  properly  endowed  and 
supported,  immense  good  would  result.  Our  fields,  woods, 
shores,  and  waters  might  abound  afresh  in  beautiful  wild  life, 
and  agriculture,  our  basal  industry,  would  be  spared  increas- 
ing devastation  and  loss. 

If  the  portrayal  of  some  of  the  delights  which  I  have  found 
amid  beautiful  nature,  in  the  haunts  of  the  birds,  shall  help  to 
kindle  in  others  the  enthusiasm  which  has  done  so  much  for 
me  with  its  rewards  of  health  and  happiness,  and  serve  to 
gain  new  friends  for  the  birds,  I  shall  be  more  than  satisfied. 

HERBERT  K.  JOB. 

KENT,  CONNECTICUT. 
April  i,  1905. 


WHITE  HOUSE,  WASHINGTON 

MY  DEAR  MR.  JOB  : 

As  a  fellow  Harvard  man  I  must  thank  you  for 
your  exceedingly  interesting  book.  I  have  been  delighted 
with  it,  and  I  desire  to  express  to  you  my  sense  of  the 
good  which  comes  from  such  books  as  yours  and  from  the 
substitution  of  the  camera  for  the  gun.  The  older  I  grow 
the  less  I  care  to  shoot  anything  except  "  varmints."  I  do 
not  think  it  at  all  advisable  that  the  gun  should  be  given 
up,  nor  does  it  seem  to  me  that  shooting  wild  game  under 
proper  restrictions  can  be  legitimately  opposed  by  any  who 
are  willing  that  domestic  animals  shall  be  kept  for  food  J 
but  there  is  altogether  too  much  shooting,  and  if  we  can 
only  get  the  camera  in  place  of  the  gun  and  have  the 
sportsman  sunk  somewhat  in  the  naturalist  and  lover  of 
wild  things,  the  next  generation  will  see  an  immense  change 
for  the  better  in  the  life  of  our  woods  and  waters. 
Faithfully  yours, 


Tf^~1-    / 


(This  letter,  written  after  a  reading  of  the  author's  earlier  book,  "  Among  the  Water- 
Fowl,"  is  here  printed  by  permission  of  the  President.) 


NEST   AND    EGGS    OF    WILSON'S    SNIPE 


CONTENTS 


PART  I.    ADVENTURINGS  IN  FLORIDA  WILDS 

I.  Cities  of  the  Brown  Pelicans  i 

II.  Following  Audubon  among  the  Florida  Keys  19 

III.  In  the  Cape  Sable  Wilderness  41 

IV.  The  Great  Cuthbert  Rookery  61 
V.  On  Lonely  Bird  Key  83 


PART  II.    OTHER  WANDERINGS  SOUTH 

VI.  Scavengers  of  the  South  I03 

VII.  Virginia  Bird-Homes  of  Beach  and  Marsh  116 

VIII.  The  Egret,  in  Nature  and  in  Fashion  134 

PART  III.    THE  SEA  !  THE  SEA  ! 

IX.  To  Bird  Rock  in  an  Open  Boat  153 

X.  Amid  Northern  Spruces  and  Sea-Girt  Rocks  171 

XI.  Off  Chatham  Bars  187 

PART  IV.   THE  ELUSIVE  SHORE-BIRDS 

XII.  The  Shore  Patrol  203 

XIII.  Northward  with  the  Shore-Bird  Host  223 

XIV.  Shore-Bird  Loiterers  239 

PART  V.    RAPTORS  AND  FOREST  FASTNESSES 

XV.  The  New  Sport  of  "  Hawking  "  259 

XVI.  Owl  Secrets  291 

XVII.  Adventures  with  Great  Horned  Owls  313 

Index  337 


WILSON'S  SNIPE.    "THERE  WAS  THE  BLESSED  SNIPE  AT  HER  VIGIL" 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


HALF-TITLE  —  Man-o'-War  Birds 

FRONTISPIECE  —  Brown  Pelican.    "  I  'm  all  ready  now  " 

TITLE-PAGE — Sooty  Terns 

PREFACE  —  Kittiwakes  and  a  Gannet,  North  Bird  Rock.    "  Strong 

wings  make  them  masters  of  the  elements  "  vii 

CONTENTS  —  Nest  and  eggs  of  Wilson's  Snipe  xv 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS  —  Wilson's  Snipe.    "  There  was   the 

blessed  Snipe  at  her  vigil "  xvii 


xviii  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

HALF-TITLE,  PART  I  —  Noddies.    "  Mates  caressing  "  xxvii 

Part  of  the  Pelican  city,  as  seen  from  the  boat  i 
Brown  Pelicans.    "  It  was  not  until  we  sprang  out  upon  the  shore 

that  there  was  any  considerable  flight  "  5 
Newly  hatched  young  Pelicans  6 
The  young  Pelicans  improve  with  age  7 
Brown  Pelicans.  "  They  made  me  think  of  gangs  of  boys  "  8 
The  Brown  Pelicans  on  their  nests  1 1 
Young  Pelicans,  almost  ready  to  fly  13 
Adult  and  young  Pelicans  on  nests  in  mangrove  bushes  15 
A  typical  Pelican's  nest  17 
Brown  Pelicans  on  their  nests,  at  close  range  18 
Man-o'-War  Birds.  "  Now  they  began  to  rise  "  19 
"  The  Man-o'-War  Bird,  that  wonderful  aeronaut  of  tropical  waters  "  2 1 
Young  Great  White  Heron  27 
Great  White  Heron.  "  He  stood  like  a  statue  or  obelisk  "  29 
Young  Ward's  Herons.  "  Making  vicious  lunges  "  31 
Man-o'-War  Birds.  "  A  plate  full  of  the  gracefully  soaring  birds  "  35 
Great  White  Herons.  "  Not  so  well-bred  were  a  trio  in  a  neigh- 
boring nest "  40 
"  A  pair  of  splendid  White  Pelicans  "  41 
Nest  and  young  of  the  Wood  Ibis,  built  on  the  tops  of  the  man- 
groves 43 
Young  Wood  Ibis  posed  for  a  portrait  45 
"  The  tract  of  woods  into  which  returning  Ibises  were  dropping  "  47 
White  Ibises  in  "  flight-line  "  for  the  rookery  51 
White  Ibises.  "  The  trees  were  fairly  alive  with  splendid  great 

birds "  53 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS  xix 

Young  White  Ibises  and  Louisiana  Herons  55 
Young  White  Ibis  on  its  nest  56 
"  Contained  four  young  Snowy  Herons  "  57 
Spoonbill  and  Ibis  watching  the  intruders  59 
Young  Roseate  Spoonbills  in  nest  60 
Adult  Little  Blue  Heron,  from  the  boat  61 
Ibises  and  Cormorants  leaving  the  rookery.  "  My  first  pic- 
ture "  63 
"  Another  lot  of  Ibises  started  up  "  67 
Young  Anhingas.  "  The  coveted  opportunity  "  69 
Telephoto  picture  of  an  Ibis  and  a  Louisiana  Heron  71 
Young  Florida  Cormorants  72 
Louisiana  Herons.  "  Young  in  their  rude  home  "  73 
Young  Little  Blue  Heron.  "  Stood  very  sweetly  for  his  picture  "  75 
Cormorants,  Ibises,  and  a  Heron.  "Fluttering  from  the  low 

mangroves"  77 

A  vision  of  Cuthbert  Lake,  with  an  Anhinga  79 

"  One  of  these  Fish  Crows  kept  hovering  close  around  me  "  82 

Sooty  Terns.    "They  settle  down  upon  the  sand"  83 

Sooty  Terns.    "  Alone  among  the  birds  "  85 

The  nesting  Noddy.    "  A  case  of  love  at  first  sight  "  87 

Sooty  Terns.    "  Thousands  of  wings  are  fluttering  "  89 

Man-o'- War  Birds  at  their  roost  91 

Sooty  Tern  over  egg  93 
The    little  pier.    "The  Noddies  and  Man-o '-War  Birds  love  to 

roost  on  it  "  95 

Noddies.    "  The  male  stands  beside  his  mate  as  she  broods  "  97 

Sooty  Tern.    "  With  rather  long,  pointed  wings  "  99 


xx  LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

HALF-TITLE,  PART  II  —  Turkey  Buzzard  101 
Black  Vultures.    "They  sit  in  rows  upon  the  adjoining  houses  "       103 

Turkey  Buzzard.    Sunning  itself  105 
Turkey  Buzzard's  portrait.   "Not  altogether  as  pretty  as  a  picture"    107 

Turkey  Buzzard.    "  A  fine  subject  to  photograph  "  109 

Black  Buzzard  on  street  in  Charleston  1 1 1 
Black  Vultures.    "The  fences  of  the  slaughter-pens  were  fairly 

black  with  them  "  113 
Negroes  and  Black  Buzzards  on  city  dumping-ground,  Charleston     114 

Turkey  Buzzard.    "On  pinions  majestic  the  vulture"  115 

Flock  of  Laughing  Gulls  by  the  quarantine  station  116 

Nest  and  eggs  of  the  Black  Skimmer  119 

"  Parties  of  Skimmers  were  flying  about"  121 

Nest  and  eggs  of  the  Clapper  Rail  123 

Black  Skimmer  incubating  eggs  125 

Laughing  Gulls  hovering  over  their  nests  127 

Young  Common  Terns,  ready  to  escape  129 

Young  Marsh  Tern  hiding  131 

Laughing  Gull  on  her  nest  132 

Nest  and  eggs  of  Marsh  Tern  133 

The  American  Egret  in  flight  134 

Osprey  and  nest  137 

Egrets  and  Little  Blue  Herons  139 

Young  Little  Blue  Herons  140 

Young  Egrets  in  nest  141 

Egret  watching  approach  of  boat  143 

Female  Egret  on  her  nest  145 

Young  Egrets  nearly  fledged  149 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS  xxi 

HALF-TITLE,    PART   III  —  Puffins    and  Razor-bills,  one   of   the 

latter  flapping  15 l 
Gannets  leaving  North  Bird  Rock  153 
Bird  Rock.  "  The  famous  rock,  with  its  beetling  cliffs  and  whir- 
ring multitude "  155 
Gannets  and  Murre  leaving  nests  157 
Gannets  and  Murres  incubating  159 
Gannet  returning  home  161 
Puffins  leaving  the  rock  163 
Kittiwakes  on  their  nests  165 
Party  of  Razor-bills,  one  showing  peculiar  straddling  attitude  in 

flight  1 66 

Gannets  nesting  on  the  top  of  North  Bird  Rock  167 

Briinnich's  Murre  by  its  egg.    "  Shrank  back  bashfully"  169 

Pair  of  Herring  Gulls.    "Allowed  me  to  approach  "  171 

Black  Guillemots  and  their  haunts  175 
Black  Guillemots.     "  Curiosity  seems  to  be  one  of  their  most 

striking  characteristics  "  178 

Black  Guillemot  over  her  eggs  180 

Herring  Gull  leaving  the  dead  tree  182 

Leach's  Petrel  removed  from  its  burrow  186 

Greater  Shearwater  and  Wilson's  Petrels  187 

Wilson's  Petrels  191 

"A  Sooty  Shearwater  or  two  joined  the  party  "  192 

Greater  Shearwater.    "  They  came  fairly  near  "  193 
Greater  and  Sooty  Shearwaters.    "It  was  a  school  of  bait  they 

were  chasing  "  195 

Pomarine  Jaeger.    "  Great  powerful  Jaegers  were  passing  "  197 


xxii  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Greater  Shearwater  rising  198 

Pomarine  Jaeger  200 
HALF-TITLE,  PART  IV — Sandpipers  and  Turnstones.  "  The  sands 

were  fairly  alive  with  shore-birds"  201 

Semipalmated  Sandpipers  203 

Turnstones.  "The  birds  fed  up  near  to  me"  209 
Flock  of  Turnstones,  with  a  Wilson's  Plover,  a  Dowitcher,  and 

a  Sandpiper  213 
Turnstones  and  Sandpipers.  "  Within  a  dozen  feet  they  fed, 

bathed,  and  preened  their  feathers  "  215 

Hudsonian  Curlews  coming  in  at  night  to  roost  217 

"  A  splendid  male  Black-breast  Plover."  "  Tired  of  feeding  "  220 

Black-breast  Plover.  "  Gone  sweetly  off  into  dreamland"  221 

Lesser  Yellow-legs  in  Florida  pool  222 

Anxious  Ring-necked  Plovers.  "When  they  came  together"  223 

Nest  and  eggs  of  Least  Sandpiper  226 

Least  Sandpiper  on  nest  227 

Mother  Least  Sandpiper.  "Alighted  on  the  posts  and  wire  "  228 

Young  Least  Sandpipers  as  first  found  229 

Wilson's  Snipe  on  nest.  "  A  splendid  timed  exposure"  233 

Ring-necked  Plover  and  young.  "The  little  fellow  scurried  in 

under  the  maternal  breast"  237 

Nest  and  eggs  of  Ring-necked  Plover  238 

American  Oyster-catcher  on  nest  239 

Nest  and  eggs  of  Oyster-catcher  241 

Young  Oyster-catcher  245 

Nest  and  eggs  of  Wilson's  Plover  247 
Scene  on  the  Willet  Key.  Pair  of  Willets  and  a  Wilson's  Plover  249 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS  xxiii 

Spotted  Sandpiper  settling  over  eggs  250 
Willet.  "  I  inveigled  him  into  alighting  250 
Willet  on  nest  251 
Nest  and  eggs  of  Willet  253 
Wilson's  Plover  255 
HALF-TITLE,  PART  V  —  Young  Screech  Owls,  one  showing  atti- 
tude of  defence  257 
Nest  and  young  of  Marsh  Hawk  259 
The  climb  to  a  Red-tailed  Hawk's  nest.  "  My  friend  climbed  "  264 
Young  Red-shouldered  Hawk  (Florida)  267 
Captive  Red-tailed  Hawk  in  the  attitude  of  watching  for  prey  269 
Captive  Cooper's  Hawk  271 
Nest  and  eggs  of  Cooper's  Hawk  in  crotch  of  chestnut  273 
Cooper's  Hawks.  Same  nest  as  last,  with  young  275 
Cooper's  Hawk  incubating.  "  The  wildest  hawk  can  be  photo- 
graphed upon  the  nest  "  277 
Young  Sharp-shinned  Hawks,  raised  from  the  nest  280 
"  A  brood  of  tiny  Sharpshins  in  their  nest  "  282 
Pair  of  Sparrow  Hawks  in  captivity  285 
Young  Red-tailed  Hawk.  290 
"  For  some  years  a  pair  of  Barred  Owls  nested  in  the  cavity  of 

an  oak  "  291 
Young   Barred  Owl   from   nesting  hollow  shown  in  preceding 

picture  299 

Adult  Screech  Owl.    Hiding  pose  305 

Screech  Owl.    "  Coming  to  life  "  307 

Two  of  the  young  Screech  Owls  in  first  plumage  309 

The  Screech  Owl  and  her  children  312 


xxiv  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Great  Horned  Owl.    "  Stared  off  in  such  an  interested  and  spirited 

attitude"  313 
View  of  the  Great  Horned  Owl  on  her  nest  317 
Great  Horned  Owl.  "  When  it  was  about  two  months  old  "  319 
Nest  and  eggs  of  the  Great  Horned  Owl  322 
Great  Horned  Owl.  "  The  young  were  safely  hatched  "  323 
Great  Horned  Owl.  "As  she  returned  to  her  young"  325 
Great  Horned  Owl.  "  Her  body  crouched  down  into  the  nest  "  327 
Great  Horned  Owl.  "  Stooping  over  to  caress  her  owlet  "  331 
Great  Horned  Owl.  "  Squatting  in  the  leaves  "  333 
Great  Horned  Owl.  "  There  sat  the  brooding  owl,  her  head  show- 
ing above  the  nest  "  33^ 


There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods, 

There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore, 

There  is  society  where  none  intrudes 

By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar: 

I  love  not  man  the  less,  but  nature  more, 

From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 

From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before, 

To  mingle  with  the  universe,  and  feel 

What  I  can  ne  er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 

BYRON. 


Part  I 


in  jflorttia 


Palmettos  ranked,  with  childish  spear-points  set 

Against  no  enemy  —  rich  cones  that  fret 

High  roofs  of  temples  shafted  tall  witJi  pines  — 

Green,  grateful  mangroves  where  the  sand-beacJi  shines  — 

Long  lissome  coast  that  in  and  outward  swerves, 

The  grace  of  God  made  manifest  in  curves. 

LANIER. 


PART  OF  THE  PELICAN  CITY,  AS  SEEN  FROM  THE  BOAT 


CHAPTER    I 


CITIES    OF   THE    BROWN    PELICANS 

There,  in  sweet  thraldom,  yet  unweening  why, 
The  patient  dam,  who  ne'er  till  then  had  known 
Parental  instinct,  brooded  o'er  her  eggs, 
Long  ere  she  found  the  curious  secret  out, 
That  life  was  hatching  in  their  brittle  shells. 
Then,  from,  a  wild  rapacious  bird  of  prey, 
Tamed  by  the  kindly  process,  she.  became 
That  gentlest  of  all  living  things,  —  a  mother. 

JAMES  MONTGOMERY.    From  "  The  Pelican  Island." 

EARLY  spring  in  New  England  is  apt  to  be,  at  best, 
the  most  trying   time  of  all  the   year.     One  recent 
season  it  was  notably  so,  with  its  succession  of  raw, 
sunless  days  and  protracted  storms.    During  some  of  my  long 
drives,  in  March,  through  the  thawing  and  stiffening  mud, 
hunting  for  nests  of  the  Great  Horned  Owl,  I  was  almost 
frozen,  particularly  as  no  successes  came,  with  their  exhilara- 


WINGS 

tion,  to  make  me  feel  that  any  sort  of  weather  was  glorious. 
Then  April  was  ushered  in  with  day  after  day  of  cold,  dismal 
rain.  Not  a  bud  had  swelled ;  hardly  even  a  blade  of  grass 
was  green. 

Yet  I  was  biding  my  time,  and  soon,  as  though  by  magic, 
I  found  myself  in  a  new  world.  On  the  eighth  of  April,  with 
tremendous  downpour  and  shrieking  blasts,  this  mockery  of 
a  spring  fairly  outdid  itself.  Forswearing  travel  by  sea,  under 
such  circumstances,  toward  midnight  a  congenial  friend  and 
I  ensconced  ourselves  comfortably  under  the  blankets  of  a 
Pullman  sleeper  in  Jersey  City.  When  we  arose,  we  were  at 
the  national  Capital,  and  strolled  awhile  amid  young  leaves 
and  flowers  in  the  parks.  In  the  afternoon  we  were  rolling 
through  Virginia  and  North  Carolina,  gazing  upon  blossom- 
ing peach-trees  and  bursting  buds.  Early  next  morning,  as 
I  raised  the  curtain,  I  saw  dense  green  foliage  and  summer 
skies,  in  the  environs  of  Savannah.  Then  came  landscapes 
gay  with  rustling  palmettos,  and  we  were  in  Florida.  Winter 
clothing  was  discarded,  and  we  almost  forgot  the  chilly  North- 
ern clime  with  its  discomforts. 

Halfway  down  the  East  Coast  Railway  we  had  the  train 
stopped  at  a  little  flag-station,  where  our  guide  was  waiting 
for  us.  In  a  short  time  we  were  sailing  across  the  tepid  waters 
of  the  Indian  River,  exulting  in  the  mild,  moist  air,  watching 
the  Scaup  Ducks  which  rose  in  flocks  before  us  and  the  sil- 
very mullets  leaping  from  the  water  in  all  directions.  On  the 
other  side,  upon  the  narrow  peninsula  of  land  which  separates 
Indian  "  River  "  from  the  ocean,  we  found  a  little  wharf  up 
a  sort  of  lagoon,  and  back  of  it  a  pleasant  house,  shaded  by 
palms  and  live-oaks,  where  we  made  our  headquarters. 
Oranges  and  lemons  hung  from  the  trees  around  the  doors. 
Mockingbirds  and  Cardinals  gave  splendid  vocal  exhibitions 
by  day,  as  well  as  various  other  birds  new  to  us,  while  at 


CITIES  OF  THE  BROWN   PELICANS  3 

night  the  curious  "  Chuck- Will's- Widow  "  and  the  Florida 
Screech  Owl  put  in  their  contemplative  refrains.  For  the  first 
few  days  we  almost  wilted  under  the  eighty-five  degrees  of 
temperature,  Fahrenheit,  but  soon  got  ourselves  in  good  form 
for  hard  tramps  and  various  adventures.  — 7— 

On  the  morning  of  the  sixteenth,  after  waiting  for  the 
regular  sea-breeze  to  arise,  we  were  making  a  slow  start  for 
Pelican  Island,  twelve  miles  farther  down  the  river.  Within 
forty  minutes  the  expected  breeze  began  to  spring  up  fair  from 
the  north-northeast,  and  we  scudded  along,  rejoicing  in  the 
delightful  conditions  and  surroundings.  The  mullets  were 
leaping,  as  usual.  Scaup  Ducks  and  Scoters  flew  up  before 
us,  while  Bald  Eagles  soared  and  Ospreys  plied  their  fishing 
amid  lavish  abundance,  flying  with  their  prey  to  the  tropical- 
looking  shores  lined  with  palms  and  mangroves.  By  ten 
o'clock  we  began  to  see  lines  of  great  pelicans  with  slow, 
measured  flight  coming  in  from  the  ocean  and  flying  down- 
stream past  us,  and  before  eleven  o'clock  the  guide  pointed 
out  Pelican  Island. 

No  tremendous  cliffs .  were  there,  as  at  Bird  Rock,  in  the 
Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence.  Indeed,  until  we  had  come  quite  close, 
it  was  hard  to  distinguish  this  small  low  island  from  the  neigh- 
boring shore,  not  half  a  mile  away,  with  its  jungle  of  palms 
and  mangroves.  Then  we  could  see  many  beating  wings, 
and,  with  our  field-glasses,  a  great  crowd  of  birds  upon  the 
ground  —  the  Brown  Pelicans  upon  their  nests.  With  eager 
anticipation  we  made  ready  our  battery  of  cameras  for  the 
bloodless  fray,  casting  anxious  glances  at  the  heavy  cumulus 
clouds  which  threatened  to  spoil  the  light  at  the  critical  mo- 
ment. And  now  we  were  close  enough  to  take  in  the  whole 
situation.  Here  was  the  low,  flat  islet  of  only  about  three 
acres,  somewhat  triangular  in  form.  A  very  few  small  palmet- 
tos and  low  mangrove  trees  and  stumps  were  standing,  but 


4  WILD  WINGS 

most  of  the  area  was  an  open  expanse,  overgrown  with  tall 
weeds  and  grass,  except  for  two  considerable  sandy  tracts  at 
the  east  and  southwest  corners.  Both  of  these  tracts  were 
fairly  covered  with  an  army  of  great  birds,  about  the  size  of 
geese,  each  of  a  general  grayish  color  above  and  dark  brown 
beneath,  with  long  brown  and  white  neck  and  enormous  bill 
with  pendant  pouch  that  was  held  pointed  downward  in  a 
most  ridiculously  solemn,  pompous  fashion.  There  were,  too, 
a  few  of  the  birds  located  at  the  northwestern  end,  and  also 
smaller  overflow  colonies  on  at  least  two  other  islands  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  eastward.  These  are  the  Brown  Pelican,  a 
Southern  species,  entirely  different  from  our  only  other  kind, 
the  American  White  Pelican,  which  is  snow-white,  with  black 
wing-tips,  and  is  found  mostly  in  the  interior  and  on  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  breeding  on  islands  in  lakes  from  Minnesota 
northward. 

From  time  immemorial  this  little  island  has  been  the  prin- 
cipal, if  not  the  only,  breeding-ground  of  the  Brown  Pelicans 
of  the  east  coast  of  Florida.  Though  there  are  hundreds  of 
other  islands  apparently  just  as  good,  this  one  alone  has 
attracted  the  pelicans.  Dastardly  plume-hunters  have  at 
times  all  but  annihilated  them ;  swinish  egg-collectors  have 
robbed  them  of  every  egg  in  sight ;  yet  still  they  remain 
faithful  to  the  old  home-land  of  their  ancestors.  Creatures  of 
habit  they  are,  like  the  chickens  that  persist  in  roosting  in 
the  orchard,  despite  the  advent  of  winter  weather. 

Our  boat  was  now  closely  approaching  the  east  end  of  the 
island,  directed  by  the  guide,  while  we  held  ready  our  cam- 
eras, expecting  at  every  moment  to  see  the  birds  rise  in  a 
cloud  and  leave  the  vicinity.  To  make  sure  of  present  oppor- 
tunity, we  took  snap-shots  as  the  birds  still  sat  on  their  nests. 
Then  we  prepared  in  earnest  for  the  grand  flight.  The  boat 
was  run  ashore  abreast  of  the  colony,  but  without  alarming 


CITIES   OF  THE   BROWN   PELICANS  5 

them.  Then  we  stood  up  and  shouted,  but  hardly  a  bird  rose. 
There  they  sat  upon  their  nests,  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
them,  many  within  forty  or  fifty  feet,  solemnly  gazing  at  us. 
It  was  not  until  we  sprang  out  upon  the  shore  that  there 
was  any  considerable  flight,  and  even  then  we  noticed  that  it 


"IT   WAS   NOT    UNTIL    WE   SPRANG   OUT   UPON    THE   SHORE   THAT   THERE   WAS 
ANY    CONSIDERABLE    FLIGHT  " 

occurred  only  within  a  radius  of  fifty  or  sixty  feet,  the  rest  of 
the  colony  remaining  on  their  nests  apparently  in  perfect 
unconcern.  We  also  noticed  with  delight,  as  we  went  back  to 
the  boat  for  more  plates,  that  the  flying  birds,  after  a  short 
circle  out  over  the  water,  came  right  back  and  settled  upon 
their  nests.  The  fear  that  it  would  be  next  to  impossible  to 
secure  pictures  at  close  range  was  proven  groundless. 

Equipped  with  all  necessary  photographic  implements,  we 
now  started  out  for  a  thorough  tour  of  inspection.  A  great 
area  of  nests  lay  before  us,  a  few  of  them  built  on  the  spread- 
ing limbs  or  tops  of  the  mangrove  bushes,  but  the  great 
majority  were  on  the  sand,  usually  about  a  yard  apart.  Those 


6  WILD  WINGS 

on  the  bushes  were  built  of  sticks,  weed-stems,  and  grass,  and 
were  quite  bulky,  while  the  ground  nests  were  much  smaller, 
composed  largely  of  soft  materials.  The  contents  of  the  nests 
were  greatly  varied.  Though  the  nesting-season  of  the  peli- 
cans begins  as  early  as  November  or  December,  many  of  the 

nests  still  had  their  complements 
of  great,  dirty-white  eggs,  some 
of  them  comparatively  clean  and 
fresh.  These  may  have  been 
second  or  third  layings,  owing 
to  previous  deprivations,  though 
to  what  extent  individual  peli- 
cans may  be  irregular  in  their 
nesting-time,  I  cannot  say.  In 
other  nests,  there  were  young, 
in  all  stages,  from  the  naked, 
newly  hatched,  and  rather  re- 
pulsive-looking callow  bird-life,  to  the  more  sightly,  yet  not 
altogether  handsome,  downy  stage.  Still  other  nests  were 
empty,  but  that  their  mission  had  not  been  fruitless  was  evi- 
dent from  the  numbers  of  well-grown  young  that  were  running 
about  in  all  directions.  Evidently  they  were  all  but  able  to 
fly,  as  their  wing-feathers  seemed  to  be  well  grown,  though 
on  the  bodies  the  feathers  were  still  more  or  less  downy  and 
ragged.  In  color  they  were  very  different  from  their  parents, 
being  of  a  lighter  gray,  and  mainly  white  on  the  under  parts. 
These  young  pelicans  afforded  us  quite  a  little  amusement. 
Though  they  evidently  inherited  not  a  little  of  the  true  peli- 
can gravity  of  demeanor,  their  childishness  could'not  but  show 
out.  For  one  thing,  they  were,  like  most  children,  eminently 
social.  They  made  me  think  of  gangs  of  bovs  upon  the  street 
corners,  as  they  congregated  here  and  therein  groups,  chat- 
tering away  in  peculiar,  guttural  tones,  individuals  falling 


NEWLY    HATCHED   YOUNG    PELICANS 


CITIES   OF  THE   BROWN    PELICANS 


THE    YOUNG    PELICANS    IMPROVE   WITH    AGE 

occasionally  into  some  little  dispute.  Then  the  gang  would 
scamper  away,  no  doubt  bent  upon  some  gay  prank,  if, 
indeed,  that  were  conceivable  of  such  dignified  creatures  as 
pelicans,  however  young.  On  the  whole,  though,  they  seemed 
sedate  enough  to  satisfy  their  industrious  parents,  who  had 
gone  off  across  the  strip  of  "  hammock,"  or  tropical  jungle, 
to  the  ocean  shore,  there  to  plunge  headlong  into  the  sea 
and  catch  fish,  which  they  would  carry  home  in  the  net-like 
pouches  to  fill  young  maws,  doubtless,  like  those  of  other 
children,  in  a  chronic  state  of  emptiness. 

We  learned  from  the  guide  and  others  that  it  was  the 
pelicans'  custom  to  feed  their  young  in  the  morning  and  late 
in  the  afternoon.  Strangely  enough,  the  pelicans  do  not  fish 
near  the  island  in  the  river,  but,  in  flocks  of  about  a  dozen, 


8  WILD  WINGS 

fly  across  to  the  ocean  for  that  purpose.  Since  it  was  not 
feeding-time  during  our  stay,  we  saw  this  curious  operation 
only  a  very  few  times.  The  youngsters,  with  greedy  violence, 
thrust  head  and  neck  away  down  into  the  parent's  gullet, 
and  gobble  away  at  the  partly  digested  fish.  In  the  case  of 


"THEY  MADE  ME  THINK  OF  GANGS  OF  BOYS" 

the  older  children,  roaming  around  in  bands,  it  would  seem 
remarkable  if  parents  can  identify  their  own,  and  if  commun- 
ism is  not  for  a  time  the  order  of  pelican  society. 

Presently  we  made  a  visit  to  the  other  large  group  of  peli- 
cans at  the  southwest  corner  of  the  island,  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty  yards  from  the  first.  Here  we  found  a  similar  state 
of  affairs.  Each  of  the  many  occupied  nests  was  brooded  over 
by  a  devoted  parent  —  I  could  not  tell  whether  male  or  female. 
Yet  there  was  considerable  going  and  coming,  for  one  reason 
or  other,  making  a  lively  scene,  with  enough  noise  from  the 
harsh,  croaking  voices  of  the  birds  to  suggest  considerable 


CITIES   OF  THE   BROWN   PELICANS  9 

street  traffic  in  this  pelican  city.  The  citizens  all  dress  well, 
and  look  remarkably  neat  in  this  favored  social  order  where 
poverty  is  unknown,  and  where  there  are  no  strikes  or  other 
signs  of  discontent.  But  let  not  the  visitor  hope  to  vie  with 
the  pelicans  in  neatness  of  apparel  and  apparent  cleanliness. 
The  passing  birds  are  continually  dropping  a  watery  excre- 
ment which,  though  it  does  not  seem  to  stick  upon  the  oily 
plumage  of  the  pelicans,  certainly  does  not  allow  the  gar- 
ments of  human  visitors  to  remain  immaculate.  The  ground, 
too,  is  very  dirty,  infested  by  swarms  of  insects,  and  in  a  short 
time  our  clothing  and  cameras  were  well  besmeared. 

Naturally  we  were  interested  to  make  an  estimate  of  the 
population  of  Pelican  Island.  As  nearly  as  we  could  count, 
there  were  four  hundred  and  fifty  nests  at  the  east  end,  five 
hundred  and  twelve  at  the  southwest,  and  fourteen  at  the 
northwest,  making  nine  hundred  and  seventy-six  in  all.  This 
means  nineteen  hundred  and  fifty  -  two  adult  birds.  The 
most  common  number  of  the  eggs  in  a  nest  was  three,  but 
often  only  two.  In  only  one  nest  did  we  find  four,  and  in 
one  other  five.  Assuming  that  each  pair  raises  two  young, 
a  colony  ought  to  double  every  season,  if  they  were  not 
disturbed.  On  the  adjacent  islands  there  were  evidently  over 
two  hundred  nests,  though  we  did  not  land.  Assuming,  then, 
that  there  were  twelve  hundred  nests  in  all,  the  adult  popu- 
lation of  the  whole  colony  can  be  placed  at  twenty-four 
hundred. 

Mr.  F.  M.  Chapman  has  recorded  that  on  a  visit  to  this 
island,  in  1898,  he  counted  eight  hundred  and  forty-five  nests, 
and  noticed  a  very  few  on  an  adjacent  island.  Assuming  that 
there  were  then  nine  hundred  nests  in  all,  it  is  evident  that 
the  colony  had  increased  about  one  third  in  four  years.  This 
desirable  result  may  be  due  to  the  better  enforcement  of  strict 
laws  in  Florida  against  the  destruction  of  plume-bearing 


io  WILD   WINGS 

birds,  the  efforts  of  the  American  Ornithologists'  Union  in 
appointing  a  warden  to  watch  the  colony,  and  a  bettering  of 
public  sentiment  in  Florida,  realizing  the  great  value  of  inter- 
esting wild  life  in  attracting  tourists.  Our  own  party  is  a  case 
in  point.  To  see  this  pelican  colony,  heron  rookeries,  and 
other  bird  resorts,  three  of  us  —  one  more  having  followed  — 
had  come  all  the  way  from  New  England,  meaning  several 
hundred  dollars  distributed  among  railroads,  boarding-houses, 
guides,  stable-men,  and  store-keepers  ;  and  we  are  only  a  few 
out  of  thousands.  The  people  of  Florida  are  short-sighted 
indeed  if  they  allow  vandals  and  plume-hunters  to  massacre 
these  pelicans,  herons,  and  other  interesting  creatures. 

In  making  an  expedition  of  this  kind  to  such  great  bird 
resorts  as  this  pelican  colony,  one  feels  like  a  general  who  is 
planning  and  conducting  the  siege  of  some  great  capital. 
Plans  must  be  carefully  made  beforehand,  the  photographic 
equipment  must  be  complete  and  in  perfect  order,  and  the 
worker  must  be  in  readiness  to  take  advantage  of  every 
favoring  circumstance.  My  equipment  at  this  time  lacked  the 
very  desirable  reflecting  camera,  but  I  had  two  good  long- 
focus  cameras,  a  4  x  5  and  a  5  x  7,  with  good  lenses  and 
a  telephoto  lens  besides.  These  I  was  determined  to  use  for 
all  they  were  worth,  and  with  them  I  went  systematically 
to  work  to  "  take  "  Pelican  Island  and  all  its  defending  gar- 
rison. 

First  I  took  a  number  of  general-  views,  snap-shots  with 
camera  in  hand,  of  the  pelicans  on  their  nests  and  in  flight. 
Then,  with  the  camera  on  the  tripod,  I  photographed  nests  at 
close  range,  with  eggs  and  young,  using  the  ball  and  socket 
clamp.  When  these  general,  I  might  say  "  routine,"  matters 
had  been  disposed  of,  I  had  the  rest  of  the  time  for  that 
fascinating,  but  often  slow  and  exasperating,  branch  of  the 
subject  —  bird-portraiture.  Over  at  the  farther  end  of  the 


CITIES   OF   THE   BROWN    PELICANS  13 

southwest  settlement,  the  area  of  nests  extended  almost  to 
a  tract  of  tall  weeds.  Here  I  found  it  convenient  to  plant  the 
camera  on  the  shortened  tripod,  allowing  the  tall  weeds  to 
arch  over  it,  where  it  commanded  a  view  of  a  number  of  nests 


YOUNG  PELICANS,  ALMOST  READY  TO  FLY 

at  moderate  distance.  When  I  withdrew  a  few  yards  back, 
the  birds  at  once  returned,  and  I  pulled  the  thread  which  I  had 
attached  to  the  shutter.  Then,  after  two  or  three  exposures, 
I  placed  the  camera  on  its  case  close  to  a  nest  or  two,  covered 
it  with  the  rubber  cloth,  and  the  whole  with  grass.  The  birds 
did  not  mind  this,  and  returned  at  once,  giving  me  all  the 
chances  I  wished  to  make  exposures  from  behind  a  clump 
of  grass  down  by  the  shore. 


14  WILD   WINGS 

Over  in  the  eastern  colony  a  pelican  that  had  a  nest  at  the 
foot  of  a  stub  returned  readily  to  her  eggs,  though  I  had 
placed  the  large  camera  on  the  sand,  without  concealment, 
but  little  over  a  yard  away.  She  would  waddle  past  the 
camera  up  on  to  her  nest,  settle  down,  draw  in  her  chin  in 
the  most  dignified  attitude,  and  seem  to  say,  "I  'm  all  ready 
now ;  pull ! "  I  also  set  the  camera  on  the  tripod  in  the 
open  near  some  nests  on  a  mangrove,  and  pulled  the  thread 
when  some  of  the  old  birds  alighted  on  the  empty  nests, 
near  the  large  youngsters.  Another  successful  method  was 
to  drive  a  company  of  the  well-grown  young  down  to  the 
shore,  where  I  could  get  within  ten  feet  of  them  and  secure 
snap-shots. 

We  stayed  on  the  island  until  half-past  four,  and  were 
careful  not  to  remain  close  to  any  nest  for  more  than  a  few 
rrioments  at  a  time,  so  as  not  to  keep  the  birds  away.  Naked, 
newly  hatched  young  birds  of  any  kind  will  soon  die  in  the 
sun,  if  not  brooded,  and  visitors  to  the  bird  colonies  will  do 
well  to  remember  this,  or  they  may  do  tremendous  damage. 
In  this  case  the  pelicans  were  so  tame  that  no  harm  was  done 
by  our  stay  on  the  island,  with  the  exercise  of  a  little  care,  for 
the  birds  did  not  mind  our  presence  at  all,  as  long  as  we  kept 
thirty  feet  or  more  from  the  nesting  area. 

At  one  o'clock  the  proposal  was  made  to  have  dinner.  The 
rest  ate  without  me,  for  I  told  them  it  seemed  little  short  of 
sacrilege  to  lose  a  single  moment  of  those  brief,  precious, 
golden  hours  in  the  wonder-land  for  such  a  sordid  thing  as 
eating,  that  one  could  do  a.t  any  other  time.  So  I  fasted,  and 
worked  until  we  sailed  away. 

During  the  day  the  wind  had  steadily  increased,  and  all 
the  afternoon  had  been  blowing  a  gale  down  the  river.  We 
waited  in  vain  for  it  to  veer  to  southeast,  as  it  usually  does 
by  night,  and  at  length  had  to  start  on  our  long,  hard  beat  to 


CITIES   OF   THE   BROWN    PELICANS  15 

windward.  Our  craft  was  a  wretched  sea-boat.  Every  wave 
broke  completely  over  her,  and  in  a  moment  we  were  all 
soaked  to  the  skin.  By  dark  we  had  hardly  made  four  miles, 
and  were  almost  perishing  with  cold  —  yes,  even  in  Florida ! 


ADULT    AND    YOUNG    PELICANS    ON    NESTS    IN    MANGROVE    BUSHES 

We  debated  leaving  the  boat,  walking  across  the  peninsula 
and  up  the  ocean  beach.  But  the  thought  of  stepping  on 
rattlesnakes  in  the  dark  deterred  us,  and  we  pounded  wearily 
along.  The  night  was  dark  indeed  when  the  wind  canted 
a  few  points  to  the  eastward,  and  at  about  eleven  o'clock, 
weary,  shivering,  hungry,  we  reached  "  Oak  Lodge ''  again, 
not  sorry,  however,  that  we  had  visited  Pelican  Island. 


16  WILD  WINGS 

About  two  weeks  later  I  made  the  trip  again  with  another 
friend  who  had  joined  us.  This  time  the  day  was  perfect, 
with  a  fair  wind  both  ways,  and  nothing  could  have  been 
more  comfortable  and  enjoyable.  Upon  our  return,  our 
boarding-mistress,  Mrs.  Latham,  entertained  us  with  her 
accounts  of  how  she  secured  some  live  pelicans  for  the  Bronx 
Park  (New  York)  aviary.  She  sat  among  the  nests  on  dark 
nights  covered  with  brush  and  stubble,  and,  when  the  birds 
finally  gathered  around  her,  seized  one  of  them  by  the  neck 
and  reduced  the  flapping  thing  to  subjection. 

The  year  following  my  visit,  Pelican  Island  was  set  apart 
by  President  Roosevelt  as  a  government  reservation  for  the 
propagation  of  wild  native  birds.  Warning  notices  were 
posted  and  a  warden  empowered  to  prevent  people  from 
landing.  Here  these  pelicans  had  always  nested  within  the 
memory  of  man,  subject  to  all  manner  of  cruel  persecutions, 
from  which  now  they  were  to  be  ever  freed,  as  long  as  they 
should  repair  to  this  sanctuary.  Unfortunately  the  govern- 
ment made  no  appropriation  to  instruct  the  pelicans  in  read- 
ing, for  the  next  spring,  harassed  by  an  early  high  tide,  they 
forsook  the  abodes  of  their  fathers  and  nested  upon  some 
adjoining  islands.  One  day  I  told  the  President  how  the 
Indian  River  pelicans,  citizens  of  the  State  of  Florida,  had 
refused  to  submit  to  the  national  ordinances.  With  a  merry 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  an  amused  smile,  he  exclaimed,  "The 
provoking  things ! "  Mighty  are  the  wild,  free  children  of 
Nature !  We  could  exterminate  them,  to  be  sure,  but  yet  not 
all  the  rulers  and  governments  and  armaments  upon  earth 
could  compel  that  band  of  pelicans  to  breed  where  they  did 
not  take  a  notion  to.  Since  then,  having  vindicated  their 
right  to  independence,  they  have  returned  and  placed  them- 
selves under  Federal  protection. 

I  also  found  that  the  experiences  of  the  Indian  River  had 


CITIES  OF  THE  BROWN  PELICANS  17 

been  repeated  upon  the  South  Carolina  coast.  One  bright 
afternoon  we  anchored  our  yawl  off  a  veritable  "  sea  island," 
a  little  sand-flat  out  in  the  open  ocean.  This  was  another 
reputed  city  of  the  pelicans,  and  here  before  us  was  quite  an 
army  of  the  great  birds  drawn  up  along  the  sand  in  pompous 
array.  Now  the  pelican,  ordinarily  a  most  wary  bird,  as  soon 
as  it  has  a  nest  to  guard,  becomes  one  of  the  tamest  and 


A  TYPICAL  PELICAN'S  NEST 

most  stolid  members  of  its  race,  parental  tenderness  over- 
coming the  wildness  of  its  natural  instinct.  So,  when  I  saw 
the  pelicans,  even  before  we  had  anchored,  leave  the 
island  and  alight  out  upon  the  sea,  I  was  overwhelmed  with 
well-grounded  misgivings.  The  cause  was  soon  made  plain. 
Great  white  eggs  were  lying,  scattered  or  in  windrows,  all 
over  the  sand,  some  of  them  buried  beneath  it.  A  recent  gale 
had  flooded  the  island  and  "  broken  them  up,"  as  the  saying  is. 
The  eggs  were  fresh,  and  some  were  still  in  the  nests  with 
only  a  little  sand  washed  in.  Yet  the  birds  had  deserted  and 
resumed  their  natural  wildness. 


i8 


WILD  WINGS 


During  the  same  cruise  we  visited  two  other  pelican  cities 
of  long  standing,  which  were  likewise  upon  low  sand-bars. 
Here,  though  the  wary  old  pelicans  were  about,  there  was 
not  a  sign  of  an  egg.  The  sea  may  have  washed  them 
entirely  away.  On  the  west  coast  of  Florida  the  pelicans  are 
said  to  nest  usually  upon  low  trees,  as  some  few  did  in  the 
Indian  River  colony,  and  thus  escape  this  danger,  only  to 
suffer  at  the  hand  of  man.  Though  nature  may  be  seem- 
ingly even  more  wanton  than  man  in  its  destructions,  this  is  not 
an  example  to  be  followed,  but  a  warning  that  if  he,  too, 
turns  destroyer,  the  birds  can  have  little  chance  to  survive, 
and  the  balance  of  nature  will  be  overthrown. 


BROWN    PELICANS    ON    THEIR    NESTS,    AT    CLOSE    RANGE 


MAN-O'-WAR    BIRDS.     "NOW    THEY    BEGAN    TO    RISE" 


CHAPTER  II 


FOLLOWING  AUDUBON  AMONG  THE  FLORIDA  KEYS 

As  the  Marion  neared  the  Islet  called  "  Indian  Key"  which  is  situated  on  the  east- 
ern coast  of  the  peninsula  of  Florida,  my  heart  swelled  with  uncontrollable  delight. 
AUDUBON,  "  Episodes." 

RVRE  and  beautiful  water-birds  in  amazing  numbers, 
tropical  islets  with  their  dark  mangroves,  waving 
palms,  and  coral  shores,  waters  prolific  in  fish  and 
huge  sea-turtles,  with  the  soft  Southern  zephyrs  playing  over 
all  —  these  were  my  impressions  of  the  Florida  Keys  gath- 
ered from  the  writings  of  Audubon.  From  boyhood  I  had 
gloated  over  these  accounts  of  wonders  which  I  was  now  to 
see  for  myself.  No  small  part  of  the  pleasure  of  such  an 
expedition  is  in  anticipation,  planning,  and  preparation.  So 
the  "  triumvirate  "  of  various  former  expeditions  set  their  wits 
at  work  on  the  elusive,  yet  delightful,  campaign  of  detail. 
Months  of  inquiry  and  correspondence  resulted  at  last  in 


20  WILD   WINGS 

learning  somewhat  of  "  the  lay  of  the  land  "  in  that  morass, 
which  even  yet  in  part  remains  a  blank  upon  the  map,  and  in 
securing  the  services  of  two  ideal  guides,  men  brought  up 
in  the  unsurveyed  and  trackless  wilderness  of  the  Keys  and 
Cape  Sable,  who  knew  every  islet,  channel,  and  lake,  and  the 
wonderful  rookeries  of  the  herons,  ibises,  egrets,  and  other 
interesting  birds. 

It  was  on  a  glorious  bright  morning,  the  twenty-third  of 
April,  1903,  at  Miami,  at  that  time  the  terminus  of  the  railway, 
that  we  began  our  cruise  in  the  old  battered  seven-ton 
schooner,  the  Maggie  Valdez,  which  one  of  the  guides  had 
brought  from  Cape  Sable  to  meet  us,  as  a  substitute  for  his 
finer  craft,  which  had  recently  been  wrecked.  With  a  snap- 
ping breeze  from  the  east  we  ran  down  Biscayne  Bay,  past 
the  flat,  densely  wooded  Florida  mainland  on  our  right  and 
low  wooded  islets  well  to  seaward  on  the  left.  By  early  after- 
noon we  had  traversed  the  wider  part  of  the  bay,  and  were 
now  at  last  fairly  among  the  Florida  Keys.  That  foreign 
word  had  hitherto  savored  to  me  a  good  deal  of  mystery, 
though  not  to  such  a  degree  as  to  a  certain  New  England 
villager,  who,  when  I  told  him  that  I  was  to  visit  the  Florida 
Keys,  remarked,  with  an  air  of  entire  innocence,  that  there 
must  be  locks  down  there  too. 

Our  vessel  was  now  gliding  along  in  calm,  shallow  water, 
which  was  dotted  here  and  there  with  the  far-famed  keys. 
These  were  of  the  mangrove  type,  little  round  bunches  of 
dark,  shiny  foliage  which  seemed  to  spring  directly  from  the 
water,  as  indeed  is  often  the  case.  Sometimes  the  low  flat 
upon  which  they  grow  is  entirely  under  water.  Even  when 
it  is  not,  the  trees  grow  out  from  the  shores,  leaving  no  beach 
at  all.  The  rounded  mass  of  dark  foliage  gives  the  islet  the 
appearance  of  a  fortification  out  in  the  water.  But  such  water ! 
Should  a  painter  faithfully  produce  upon  his  canvas  that 


AMONG  THE  FLORIDA  KEYS 


21 


exquisite  pale  emerald  green  of  such  wonderful  intensity  and 
brilliance,  the  critic  would  surely  declare  it  exaggerated  and 
unnatural.  Overhead  sailed  the  Frigate  Pelican,  or  Man-o'- 
War  Bird,  that  wonder- 
ful aeronaut  of  tropical 
waters,  while  the  Brown 
Pelican  flapped  along  or 
plunged  into  the  brine 
after  the  fish.  Then  we 
anchored  for  the  night 
at  Caesar's  Creek,  the  last 
channel  for  many  a  mile 
out  into  the  open  sea. 
Just  as  we  did  so,  a  great 
dark  bird  of  prey,  that  I 
took  to  be  a  Caracara 
Eagle,  flew  directly  over 
us,  seemingly  almost 
minded  to  alight  upon 
the  mast-head.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  pull  in  the  skiff 
along  the  mangrove 
thickets  at  the  edge  of 

the  keys,  where  I  noted  various  herons  and  numbers  of  migra- 
tory Pigeon  Falcons,  as  well  as  many  small  birds. 

A  study  of  the  coast-chart  was  now  illuminating  to  us  as 
it  had  never  been  before.  Here  was  the  outer  chain  of  long, 
narrow  islands  forming  a  parallel  breakwater  for  the  Florida 
coast  from  Miami  away  out  beyond  Key  West,  some  two 
hundred  miles.  These  were  of  another  type  from  the  little 
round  mangrove  keys  of  mud  in  that  they  were  originally 
coral  reefs,  upon  which  soil  had  been  deposited.  They  are 
now  densely  wooded,  and  are  used  for  the  cultivation  of 


THE    MAN-O'-WAR    BIRD,    THAT   WONDERFUL 
AERONAUT    OF    TROPICAL   WATERS" 


22  WILD  WINGS 

tropical  fruits.  Inside  this  natural  breakwater  is  a  vast  shal- 
low bay  with  immense  flats  of  sticky,  white  clay  mud,  and 
dotted  with  mangrove  islets.  New  "keys"  are  continually 
started  by  mangrove  shoots  which,  drifting  about,  take  root 
on  these  flats  and,  multiplying,  form  islets  by  the  soil  which 
the  tide  lodges  around  their  roots.  A  very  few  of  these  keys 
have  beaches  of  finely  ground  shell-sand. 

In  Audubon's  time  this  great  inaccessible  wilderness  was 
the  resort  of  pirates  and  wreckers,  and  even  now  it  is  so 
inaccessible  and  difficult  of  navigation  that  a  sail,  other  than 
of  the  few  native  fishermen,  is  seldom  seen.  Few  naturalists 
have  ever  penetrated  the  mazes  of  its  shallows,  and  many 
of  the  keys  are  still  nameless.  Even  indefatigable  Audubon 
only  entered  the  portals  of  Florida  Bay  and  Barnes's  Sound, 
and  no  other  ornithologist  has  given  to  the  world  any  ex- 
tended account  of  the  region  and  its  contents.  Naturally  it 
was  a  very  enthusiastic  company  that  went  to  sleep  on  the 
borders  of  the  promised  land,  harassed  though  they  were  by 
mosquitoes  and  by  troops  of  great  two-inch-long  cockroaches 
that  perambulated  over  their  prostrate  forms. 

Early  the  next  morning  we  sailed  out  through  the  gap  in 
the  coral  reef  into  the  open  sea,  to  cruise  outside  the  keys, 
since  the  Maggie,  drawing  four  feet  of  water,  was  too  deep 
for  the  flats  of  Card's  and  Barnes's  Sounds.  Following  the 
shore  a  couple  of  miles  off  Key  Largo,  the  greatest  of  the 
keys,  —  some  thirty  miles  in  length,  —  we  varied  matters  by 
lingering  at  one  point  along  the  reef  to  catch  a  few  fine  fish 
for  dinner. 

Another  diversion,  as  we  sailed  along,  was  the  ever-wonder- 
ful migration  of  the  birds,  that  seemed  now  to  be  at  its  height. 
Thousands  of  little  land-birds  were  making  their  long,  weary 
flight  from  the  West  Indies,  or  even  farther,  to  our  shores. 
Most  that  I  saw  were  Water-Thrushes,  Redstarts,  Black-poll 


AMONG  THE   FLORIDA   KEYS  23 

Warblers,  and  Bobolinks.  Even  with  Florida  in  sight,  those 
last  few  miles  were  often  heart-breaking.  A  number  of  the 
little  creatures  alighted  on  our  spars,  or  even  on  deck,  and 
sometimes  allowed  us  to  take  them  in  our  hands.  One  such 
was  a  male  Bobolink  in  a  curious  mottled  transition  stage  of 
plumage.  Another  Bobolink  tried  to  alight  on  the  end  of  the 
boom,  but  was  too  much  exhausted  to  gain  a  footing,  and 
fell  into  the  water,  where  it  lay  struggling  pitifully,  sealed  for 
death.  No  land-bird  which  falls  into  the  water  at  any  distance 
from  shore  can  escape,  as  its  plumage  soon  becomes  soaked 
and  it  cannot  rise.  Thus  do  multitudes  of  the  little  migrants 
perish. 

Towards  evening  we  ran  in  to  anchor  under  the  lee  of 
Indian  Key,  where  Audubon  began  his  famous  entrance  into 
Florida  Bay  in  1832,  coming  there  on  the  U.  S.  Revenue 
Cutter  Marion.  Here  he  landed  and  was  entertained  by 
a  customs  collector  living  on  the  island,  and  from  this  base 
of  supplies  he  made  some  boating-trips  for  twenty  miles  into 
the  shallows  of  Florida  Bay. 

It  was  with  absorbing  interest  that  I  gazed  upon,  and  then 
explored,  this  beautiful  tropical  islet.  Though  I  could  not 
exactly  trace  the  great  naturalist's  literal  footsteps  upon  its 
flat  coral  rock,  I  could  recall  his  admiration  at  the  beautiful 
little  birds  he  saw  flitting  among  the  bushes  —  this  very  time 
of  year  it  was.  Many  migrant  warblers,  thrushes,  pigeons, 
and  the  like,  were  happy  amid  the  luxuriant  vegetation  of 
cocoanut  palms,  century-plants,  and  the  thorny  thickets,  in 
which  last  the  mother  Ground  Doves  brooded  their  young 
in  frail  nests,  as  the  evening  shadows  fell.  And  when  the  sun 
rose  they  were  all  jubilant  with  song.  We  drank  milk  from 
the  green  cocoanuts,  rambled  about  and  talked  with  the  old 
man  who,  with  his  wife,  represented  the  human  population. 
The  old  fellow  had  never  heard  of  Audubon,  and  was  more 


24  WILD  WINGS 

interested  in  the  boat  he  was  building  than  in  our  talk  of 
Audubonian  antiquities. 

Years  after  Audubon's  visit,  this  island  was  occupied  by 
a  Dr.  Perrine  and  his  family,  who  were  raising  tropical  fruits. 
At  the  outbreak  of  the  Seminole  War  a  band  of  Indians 
murdered  the  doctor,  but  failed  to  find  his  family,  who  were 
concealed  in  a  turtle-well.  Later  on  an  enterprising  individual 
—  according  to  tradition  —  set  up  on  this  lovely  key  with  its 
waving  palms  a  saloon  and  gambling  place,  to  which  resorted 
all  sorts  of  desperadoes.  Shade  of  Audubon  ! 

Audubon  tells  that  immediately  after  landing  on  Indian 
Key,  he  was  conducted  by  his  host  across  to  a  neighboring 
long  key,  where  he  and  his  party  inspected  a  large  rookery 
of  nesting  Florida  Cormorants.  From  his  account  I  should 
judge  that  this  was  Lower  Metacombe  Key,  which  we  could 
see  about  a  mile  to  the  westward,  a  dark  strip  of  mangroves, 
some  four  miles  long.  We  did  not  visit  it,  as  the  guide  said 
the  Cormorants  did  not  now  resort  there,  but  frequented 
some  smaller  islands  farther  back  in  the  bay.  Sor  hoping  to 
happen  upon  the  route  of  Audubon's  second-day  excursion 
(which  he*  says  he  made  between  three  A.  M.  and  dusk),  to 
a  key,  evidently  some  miles  away,  where  he  found  the  Man- 
o'-War  Birds  beginning  to  nest,  we  got  under  way  about 
eight  A.  M.,  after  further  photographing  on  Indian  Key. 
Our  course  lay  between  Lower  Metacombe  and  Lignum- 
Vitae  keys,  and  out  into  the  wilderness  of  "  soapy  mud-flats," 
or  "  soap-flats,"  as  Audubon  called  them.  The  term  is  an 
apt  one,  for  the  sticky,  whitish  clay  mud  had  a  very  soapy 
appearance,  and  the  tide  running  over  it  stirred  up  a  whitish 
lather  that  was  suggestive  of  soapy  dish-water. 

Before  long  it  was  our  lot  to  form  a  very  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  these  same  soap-flats  which  the  great  naturalist  had 
crossed.  We  had  passed  several  keys,  and  were  approaching 


AMONG  THE   FLORIDA   KEYS  25 

a  group  of  small  ones,  marked  on  the  coast-chart  as  the 
"  Bow-leg  Keys,"  I  should  think  some  eight  miles  north  of 
Indian  Key,  when  the  guide  found  it  necessary  to  run  the 
vessel  through  a  very  narrow  channel,  to  reach  some  open 
water  beyond.  He  had  vainly  tried  to  hurry  us  from  Indian 
Key,  as  the  tide  was  falling,  and  he  was  not  to  blame  when, 
though  in  mid-channel,  the  schooner  ran  hard  aground. 
Despite  the  liability  of  meeting  sharks,  we  all  stripped  and 
jumped  overboard,  and  braced  our  backs  against  her  sides 
and  stern.  Every  moment  the  tide  was  falling,  and  it  seemed 
destined  that  the  precious  light  of  April  25  should  be  lost 
idly  upon  a  soap-flat. 

I  confess  to  feeling  rather  exasperated  for  a  few  moments, 
until,  with  my  field-glass,  taking  in  our  surroundings,  I  no- 
ticed a  great  swarm  of  large  birds  of  some  sort  hovering  over 
and  beyond  the  nearest  key.  The  day's  work  was  now  laid 
out  for  us.  Launching  the  tender,  we  rowed  as  near  the  key 
as  we  could,  then  dragged  the  craft  over  the  tenacious  white 
"  soap  "  the  rest  of  the  way. 

On  the  first  island  were  found  no  birds  save  a  score  or 
more  of  Louisiana  Herons  that  were  nesting,  and  a  pair  of 
Red-bellied  Woodpeckers,  which  had  a  nest  in  a  hole  in  a 
dead  limb  of  a  black  mangrove.  It  was  the  next  island,  half 
a  mile  beyond,  over  which  the  cloud  of  birds  were  hovering 
and  alighting,  as  we  could  now  see.  So  we  pushed  along 
over  the  "  soap,"  until,  as  we  neared  the  island,  I  waded  on 
ahead,  camera  in  hand,  for  a  snap-shot.  As  I  came  around 
one  end  of  the  island,  there  was  consternation  among  the 
inhabitants,  and  a  confused  flapping  of  great  wings  was  seen 
and  heard,  beating  the  tree-tops  and  the  air.  Two  or  three  hun- 
dred, probably,  rose,  though  many  were  out  of  sight  farther 
around  the  island  when  I  made  my  snap-shot.  There  were 
Brown  Pelicans,  Florida  Cormorants,  and  Man-o'-War  Birds. 


26  WILD  WINGS 

The  two  former  flew  directly  away ;  the  Man-o'-War  Birds, 
separating  from  the  others,  rose  higher  and  higher  in  a  flock, 
and  on  almost  motionless  wings  floated  over  our  heads,  giving 
me  a  couple  more  pictures. 

Eager  to  see  the  nests,  we  pushed  the  boat  across  the 
narrow  channel  that,  as  usual,  ran  close  around  the  island, 
and  forced  our  way  in  through  the  tangle  of  mangrove  roots 
and  branches.  Everything  was  filthy  with  droppings,  and 
great  was  our  surprise  and  disappointment  to  find  that  the 
birds  were  not  nesting.  That  they  resorted  there  habitually, 
however,  was  evident  enough.  We  learned  afterwards  that 
it  was  a  regular  roosting-place.  The  birds,  though  now  dis- 
persed, we  saw  return  that  evening  in  much  greater  numbers, 
and  when  we  sailed  by  here  a  week  or  more  later,  at  dusk, 
there  were  hundreds  of  them,  on  the  trees  and  hovering. 
Ever  since  he  had  known  the  region,  the  guide  said,  this  had 
been  the  principal  resort  of  these  birds  in  that  vicinity,  and, 
inasmuch  as  all  water-birds  are  very  tenacious  of  their  resorts, 
it  is  more  than  probable  that  it  was  here  Audubon  came  on 
his  second-day's  excursion,  and  found  the  Man-o'-War  Birds. 
Before  leaving  the  island  I  climbed  to  and  examined  a  great 
eagle's  nest  in  one  of  the  larger  trees. 

It  was  not  till  sundown  that  we  were  able  to  warp  the  schooner 
out  of  her  sticky  resting-place  and  bid  adieu  to  the  returning 
flocks  of  night  lodgers  on  Bow-leg  Key.  We  sailed  along, 
dodging  shoals,  or  scraping  over  them,  until  about  nine 
o'clock,  when  we  ran  aground  again.  We  stayed  there  till 
daylight,  but  then  got  off  easily,  managing  that  day  to  keep 
afloat.  The  wind  was  light,  and  we  worked  leisurely  along, 
seeing  a  big  turtle  now  and  then  floating  on  the  surface 
of  the  water,  and  an  occasional  sea-bird,  one  of  these  being 
a  Parasitic  Jaeger.  In  the  afternoon  we  passed  Sandy  Key, 
the  farthest  point  that  Audubon  reached.  A  few  individuals 


AMONG  THE   FLORIDA   KEYS 


27 


of  that  conspicuous  and  striking  species,  the  Great  White 
Heron,  —  the  largest  heron  of  North  America,  a  species 
which  Audubon  here  discovered  and  named,  —  were  perched 


YOUNG  GREAT  WHITE  HERON 


suggestively  on  the  trees.  But  as  the  guide  was  in  a  hurry 
to  get  home,  we  postponed  our  landing  there,  and  kept  on 
toward  a  point  on  the  distant  Florida  main,  about  ten  miles 
east  of  Cape  Sable. 


28  WILD  WINGS 

The  wind  now  began  to  fail  us  still  more,  and  at  dusk, 
when  four  miles  from  our  destination,  it  was  flat  calm.  Here 
we  anchored,  and  the  guide  rowed  ashore  to  his  home,  intend- 
ing to  return  early  in  the  morning. 

Some  time  in  the  wee,  small  hours,  when  it  was  yet  very 
dark,  one  of  the  men,  sleeping  on  deck,  awoke,  and,  deciding 
that  something  was  wrong,  aroused  the  company.  Sure 
enough,  the  wind  had  arisen  strong  from  the  northwest  and 
we  were  adrift,  evidently  well  out  in  Florida  Bay.  We  could 
just  make  out  two  keys  under  our  lee.  The  anchor  had 
become  fouled  and  was  dragging.  When  cleared,  it  held  us, 
just  as  the  vessel  began  to  ground  in  the  mud.  At  daybreak 
we  got  up  jib  and  mainsail,  all  the  sail  we  could  carry  in  the 
brisk  wind,  and  beat  in  toward  a  point  on  the  distant  shore 
where  the  glasses  revealed  a  couple  of  buildings,  which 
proved  to  be  our  destination,  where  we  were  to  make  head- 
quarters. 

We  remained  here  a  week,  making  trips  into  the  interior, 
and  to  neighboring  keys.  Several  of  the  latter,  three  miles 
off  shore,  we  visited  in  a  small  boat,  and  here  it  was  that 
I  first  made  real  acquaintance  with  the  Great  White  Heron, 
a  splendid  snow-white  creature  that  stands  well-nigh  as  tall 
as  a  man,  measuring  about  seventy  inches  from  bill  to  claws. 
Approaching  one  of  these  rather  small  keys,  I  saw  several  of 
the  noble  birds  flying  uneasily  about  over  the  trees,  and, 
clambering  about  for  a  time  amid  mangrove  roots  and  slip- 
pery mud,  never  ceasing  to  fight  mosquitoes  withal,  I  was 
rewarded  by  coming  to  a  spot  where,  in  some  particularly 
large  trees,  several  nests  of  the  Great  White  Heron  were 
built.  They  were  placed  in  crotches,  twenty  to  thirty  feet 
from  the  ground  —  bulky,  wide  platforms  of  sticks,  saucer- 
shaped,  profusely  whitewashed,  and  each  with  two  or  three 
snowy  white  young,  in  size  and  age  from  only  a  few  days 


AMONG  THE   FLORIDA   KEYS  29 

old  to  a  stage  where  they  were  about  fully  grown,  and  all  but 
able  to  fly. 

One  nest  especially  interested    me.    It  was    conveniently 
situated  about  thirty  feet  from  the  ground,  and  was  occupied 


HE    STOOD    LIKE   A    STATUE    OR    OBELISK 


by  one  imposing  young  heron,  another  having  left.  A  gen- 
tleman in  appearance,  he  was  in  behavior,  as  he  stood  there 
on  the  nest  politely  to  receive  me,  not  scrambling  or  flutter- 
ing out,  as  all  young  herons  are  too  apt  to  do.  While  I  was 


30  WILD  WINGS 

admiring  him,  and  screwing  up  my  photographic  apparatus, 
he  never  moved,  nor  did  he  at  the  critical  moments  of  ex- 
posure. Then,  as  I  would  stir  him  up  a  bit,  he  retreated  out 
to  a  branch,  where  he  stood  like  a  statue  or  obelisk,  showing 
his  high  breeding  in  every  inch  of  his  splendid  stature,  while 
I  again  took  his  picture,  after  which  I  gratefully  bade  him 
farewell. 

Not  so  well-bred  were  a  trio  in  a  neighboring  nest,  about 
half  grown.  These  were  of  the  sulky  sort,  and  obstinately 
lay  down,  refusing  to  stand,  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do,  though 
the  guide  climbed  up  and  did  his  best  to  make  them  behave. 
Another  nest  with  two  very  young  fledglings  also  gave  me 
trouble.  There  was  no  point  of  vantage,  save  from  almost 
directly  above  ;  it  was  in  the  shade,  and  the  breeze  was  sway- 
ing everything,  and  the  youngsters,  as  is  the  way  with  small 
feathered  fry,  were  squirming  about  like  worms.  However, 
I  conquered  them,  and  then  climbed  to  a  rather  lofty  nest, 
near  by,  of  the  Ward's  Heron,  —  a  species  thought  by  some 
to  be  only  a  peninsular  race  of  the  familiar  Great  Blue  Heron, 
—  whose  two  youthful  inmates  were  very  ferocious,  and 
spent  their  time  making  vicious  lunges  at  me  with  their 
bills,  accompanied  by  the  harshest  expletives  of  the  heron 
tongue.  I  did  not  catch  sight  of  their  parents,  but  now 
and  then  a  Great  White  Heron  flapped  warily  overhead  at 
a  safe  distance,  to  reconnoitre.  What  an  aggravation  it  is 
to  photograph  a  flying  snow-white  heron  against  a  clear  blue 
sky,  and  find  that  as  both  cannot  be  white,  it  is  the  heron 
that  has  to  be  falsely  portrayed  as  black ! 

Having  secured  another,  and  nameless,  vessel,  no  better 
than  the  Maggie,  as  it  proved,  except  that  it  was  of  lighter 
draught,  we  started  off  for  a  general  exploration  of  the  inac- 
cessible keys  of  the  inner  bays.  First,  however,  we  sailed 
westward  to  Sandy  Key.  Though  the  guide  said  there  were 


AMONG  THE   FLORIDA   KEYS  31 

no  bird-rookeries  on  it  now,  I  was  anxious  to  examine  the 
island  where  Audubon  passed  the  night  under  the  mosquito 
net,  which  he  so  vividly  describes  in  one  of  his  "  Episodes." 
With  a  good  easterly  wind  we  were  there  by  noon,  and,  hav- 
ing eaten,  hurried  to  go  ashore.  This  key  is  long  and  narrow, 


YOUNG  WARD'S  HERONS.    "MAKING  vicious  LUNGES" 

over  a  mile  from  end  to  end,  is  wooded,  except  for  some  open 
plots  of  grass  and  cacti,  and  is  graced  with  a  genuine  beach 
of  shell-sand. 

When  Audubon  landed  here  years  ago,  he  records  that 
"  our  first  fire  among  a  crowd  of  the  great  god  wits  laid  pros- 
trate sixty-five  of  these  birds.  Rose-colored  curlews  [Roseate 
Spoonbills]  stalked  gracefully  beneath  the  mangroves.  Purple 
herons  rose  at  almost  every  step  we  took,  and  each  cactus 


32  WILD  WINGS 

supported  the  nest  of  a  white  ibis.  The  air  was  darkened  by 
whistling  wings,  while  on  the  water  floated  gallinules  and  other 
interesting  birds."  Next  morning  at  low  tide,  he  was  amazed 
to  see  the  flats  covered  with  feeding  birds  in  all  directions. 
But  now,  as  we  reviewed  these  same  scenes,  traversed  the 
beach  of  shell-sand,  searched  the  groves  of  red  and  black 
mangrove,  examined  the  little  interior  swamp  and  the  patches 
of  cacti,  we  found  a  different  state  of  things.  Too  convenient 
a  landing-place  for  "  conch  "  fishermen,  there  were  no  longer 
"acres"  of  ibis  nests.  A  few  pairs  of  Great  White  Herons, 
probably  nesting  in  the  mangroves,  flew  out  and  alighted 
on  the  flats,  where  there  were  also  Great  Blue  and  Louisiana 
Herons  feeding,  as  well  as  some  Laughing  Gulls,  Black-breast 
Plovers,  and  other  waders.  Some  Brown  Pelicans,  Fish 
Crows,  and  Turkey  Buzzards  were  flying  about,  and  a  pair 
of  Bald  Eagles,  soaring  conspicuously  over  the  island,  had 
their  nest,  a  great  pile  of  sticks  six  feet  high,  about  fifty 
feet  up  a  large  black  mangrove.  These  eagles,  we  found, 
breed  commonly  on  the  keys. 

As  we  walked  along  the  beach,  we  noticed,  a  few  yards 
out  from  shore,  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  Pharsalia,  or 
"  Portuguese  Man-o'-War,"  floating  on  the  water,  its  trans- 
parent, jelly-like  form  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  resplendent 
in  its  blue,  purple,  and  rosy  hues.  It  was  interesting  to 
watch  it  capsize,  roll  over,  and  right  itself  again.  Its  tentacles 
reached  down  into  the  water,  and  around  it  swam  a  pretty  little 
fish,  keeping  it  close  and  constant  company.  From  past 
experience,  I  was  chary  of  touching  anything  of  the  jelly-fish 
sort,  but  one  of  the  party,  before  I  could  remonstrate,  laid 
hold  of  it,  and  began  to  drag  it  ashore,  the  little  fish  following. 
Suddenly  he  let  go  of  it  with  an  exclamation  of  pain.  The 
creature  had  well  used  its  means  of  defence,  and  for  the  next 
hour  my  friend's  arm  was  aching  severely  and  was  partially 


AMONG  THE  FLORIDA  KEYS  33 

benumbed.  He  will  beware  of  handling  these  gentry  here- 
after. 

Sailing  on  again,  —  this  time  south  and  east,  —  late  in  the 
evening  we  approached  Man-o'-War  Key  and  "Bush." 
The  latter  is  a  submerged  mangrove  islet,  and  both  are  old 
resorts  of  the  Frigate  or  Man-o'-War  Bird.  Early  in  the 
morning  we  rowed  and  waded  to  each  of  them  in  the  tender 
over  the  shallows  and  "  soap-flats."  In  the  vessel  we  could 
not  approach  them  within  half  a  mile.  There  were  no  "  Men- 
o'-War,"  but  a  few  Brown  Pelicans  and  Ward's  Herons,  and 
large  numbers  of  Florida  Cormorants  were  roosting  upon 
the  trees,  though  not  breeding.  The  latter  gave  me  a  good 
snap-shot  picture  or  two  as  a  large  band  doubled  past  me, 
leaving  the  Man-o'-War  Bush.  I  then  waded  to  the  islet, 
and,  as  I  came  around  its  end,  surprised  a  considerable 
number  of  the  cormorants  roosting  upon  the  trees  on  the 
other  side.  Some  of  them  went  flapping  off  low  over  the 
water  ;  others  fell  headlong  into  the  sea  as  though  they 
had  fainted,  but  immediately  disappeared.  In  a  few  moments 
I  saw  them  emerge  well  off  from  shore  and  take  to  wing. 

When  I  tried  to  "  land  "  upon  the  "  Bush,"  I  found  it  a  rather 
uncanny  place.  There  was  no  land  at  all ;  the  trees  grew 
out  of  the  water,  which  was  knee  deep.  Every  branch  was 
completely  whitewashed  with  the  excrement  of  the  birds,  but 
there  was  not  a  nest  of  any  sort.  Nor  were  the  cormorants 
nesting  upon  the  other  and  larger  key  near  by.  But  there 
I  found  a  number  of  empty  nests  of  the  Ward's  Heron,  which 
the  young  had  probably  left,  all  built  in  quite  low  trees. 
A  pair  of  Bald  Eagles  which  we  saw  had  their  huge  nest  of 
sticks  in  a  rather  large  black  mangrove,  forty  feet  from  the 
ground.  It  was  now  past  their  breeding-time. 

From  here  we  started  out  for  a  long,  hard  beat  to  wind- 
ward, in  a  southeasterly  direction,  to  reach  a  little  settlement 


34  WILD  WINGS 

called  Planter  on  Key  Largo,  where  there  was  a  store  at 
which  we  hoped  to  replenish  our  provisions,  the  only  one  in 
the  whole  region.  I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  efforts  of  these 
two  days,  one  of  them  wet  and  stormy,  spent  in  scraping 
over  flats  and  shoals,  getting  aground,  making  detours  to 
follow  channels,  through  some  of  which  we  had  to  warp  the 
vessel  to  windward  by  poles,  skiff,  and  anchor.  Finally,  late 
the  second  afternoon  we  came  up  under  Key  Largo,  about 
opposite  where  Planter  was  supposed  to  be  on  the  outer 
shore  of  the  island.  Our  attempt  to  tramp  across  resulted  in 
failure.  A  creek  headed  us  off,  and  one  of  the  men  got  lost 
in  a  swamp.  It  proved  that  we  had  landed  several  miles  too 
far  east.  Next  morning  a  fisherman  came  alongside,  and 
told  us  how  to  go. 

The  ground  of  this  key  seemed  to  consist  mostly  of  a  hard 
broken  coral  rock,  so  rough  as  to  be  capable  of  soon  wear- 
ing one's  shoes  to  tatters.  What  soil  there  was  appeared  very 
scant,  yet  the  settlers  had  cut  away  tracts  of  jungle,  and 
right  among  the  rocks  had  caused  to  grow  luxuriant  groves 
or  fields  of  tropical  fruits,  such  as  oranges,  limes,  lemons, 
grape-fruit,  figs,  cocoanuts,  sapodillas,  bananas,  pineapples, 
and  I  know  not  what  else.  In  some  of  these  rocky  fields 
there  were  acres  of  watermelons,  unfortunately  nearly  every 
melon  being  bitten  into  and  ruined  —  by  raccoons,  it  was  said. 
Potatoes,  grown  in  the  crevices  of  the  rock,  are  dug  with 
crowbars,  rather  than  shovels. 

Having  now  plenty  of  provisions  in  stock,  fruits  galore, 
and  a  fine  mess  of  crawfish,  we  cut  loose  from  the  base  of 
supplies  and  explored  a  number  of  the  inner  keys.  On  most 
of  them  there  were  no  water-birds,  save  a  few  straggling 
herons.  On  one  large  key,  with  lakes  in  its  interior,  we  spent 
a  profitable  day  with  breeding  Least  Terns,  Laughing  Gulls, 
and  shore-birds. 


AMONG  THE  FLORIDA  KEYS  37 

Despite  all  our  efforts  thus  far,  we  had  not  found  the  Man- 
o'-War  Birds  actually  breeding.  So  we  were  glad  enough, 
after  exploring  this  key,  to  run  off  half  a  dozen  miles  before 
the  wind,  which  had  now  shifted  to  the  west,  to  a  small  key 
which  the  guide  said  was  a  resort  for  immense  numbers 
of  this  great  bird.  It  was  back  under  Key  Largo,  farther 
eastward  than  we  had  been.  We  came  to  anchor  near  sun- 
set, and  at  once  I  set  out  in  the  tender  alone  with  the  guide, 
the  other  ornithologists  being  busy  and  deciding  to  wait  till 
morning.  As  we  rowed  through  a  narrow  passage  between 
the  mangroves,  a  break  in  a  long  peninsula,  there  lay  the 
little  round  green  islet  before  us.  First  of  all  flew  out  some 
Florida  Cormorants  which  were  watching  us  from  a  little 
mangrove  clump  out  in  the  water.  Then,  as  we  approached 
within  long  gunshot  of  the  island,  began  a  wonderful  scene. 
Only  a  few  Man-o'-War  Birds  had  been  visible,  perched  on 
the  tree-tops,  or  flying  and  alighting  ;  but  now  they  began 
to  rise  in  scores,  then  in  hundreds,  yes,  in  thousands.  The 
area  of  the  island  was  hardly  over  an  acre,  and  it  seemed 
incredible  that  so  many  large  birds  could  have  found  footing 
on  the  trees,  for  the  Man-o'-War  Bird  has  a  spread  of  wing 
of  nearly  seven  feet.  I  secured  a  picture  of  them  as  they 
began  to  rise  from  the  island,  and  then  a  number  as  they 
soared  overhead,  the  sky  being  fairly  black  with  them  in 
all  directions,  before  they  gradually  drifted  away  to  hover 
over  another  distant  key.  One  only  had  to  point  a  camera 
upward,  almost  anywhere,  and  snap,  to  get  a  plate  full  of  the 
gracefully  soaring  birds. 

Then  we  rowed  to  the  island.  Several  Reddish  Egrets,  the 
only  ones  we  met  with  on  the  trip,  started  out  from  the  man- 
groves close  at  hand,  as  did  some  Louisiana  Herons.  The 
island  itself  was  entirely  under  water,  and  the  trees  were  white 
with  filth.  But  even  here  the  elusive  Frigates  were  not  nest- 


38  WILD  WINGS 

ing.  The  Louisiana  Herons  had  eggs,  and  there  were  about 
a  dozen  empty  nests,  some  of  which  had  feathers  in  them  of 
the  "  Men-o'-War,"  but  which  were  probably  the  homes  of  the 
cormorants  which  we  had  seen  in  the  vicinity.  Audubon 
found  on  the  keys  rookeries  of  the  Man-o'-War  Birds,  which 
were  beginning  to  breed  at  this  very  same  time,  in  May,  but 
of  late  years  they  have  not  been  known  to  nest  within  the 
United  States.  Their  presence  in  such  large  numbers  made 
me  confident  that  they  were  preparing  to  lay.  To  make  sure, 
I  had  the  guide  visit  these  resorts  later  in  the  summer,  and 
he  did  not  in  any  case  find  the  birds  breeding.  They  build 
a  huge  nest  of  sticks,  like  the  cormorant,  and  lay  two  or  three 
dirty-whitish  eggs.  As  we  pulled  back  to  the  vessel  through 
the  narrows,  a  pair  of  the  exquisite  pink  Roseate  Spoonbills 
flew  close  by  the  boat,  giving  me  a  splendid  and  memorable 
view  of  their  glory. 

Alas  for  the  procrastinating  naturalists  !  The  Frigates  were 
seen  till  dark  hovering  over  a  distant  isle.  They  did  not 
return  to  this  roost  at  all,  and  next  morning  at  daybreak  all 
of  them  had  entirely  disappeared,  except  a  few  stragglers  that 
rose  to  mock  the  cameras  of  the  delinquents.  More  and  more 
convinced  am  I  that  the  only  safe  time  to  photograph  birds, 
no  matter  how  plenty  they  may  be,  is  the  first  time  they  show 
themselves. 

During  the  cruise  we  had  watched  longingly  and  carefully 
for  a  sight  of  the  great  rosy  Flamingos.  That  pleasure  was 
not  for  us.  Small  bands  of  the  wary  creatures  are  yet  seen 
during  fall,  winter,  and  early  spring.  The  last  small  flock  was 
noticed  by  our  guide  in  March.  But  it  was  now  May,  their 
nesting-time  in  the  West  Indies  and  the  Bahamas,  and  thither 
all  stragglers  had  evidently  retired.  We  had  now  explored 
pretty  thoroughly  the  only  possible  region  in  the  United  States 
where  they  could  nest,  and  it  can  be  safely  assumed  that  this 


AMONG  THE   FLORIDA   KEYS  39 

splendid  bird  does  not  now  breed  within  our  limits,  if  indeed 
it  ever  did.  Even  Audubon  never  saw  a  nest. 

The  time  had  now  come  for  our  party  to  disband.  All  but 
myself  had  to  return  home,  and  were  to  keep  on  eastward  in 
the  schooner  for  Miami.  It  was  my  privilege  to  remain  for 
further  exploration.  So  that  morning  we  said  our  farewells, 
and  with  one  of  the  guides,  in  a  frail  little  centre-board  skiff 
with  a  leg-of-mutton  sail,  I  started  back  on  a  fifty-mile  beat 
to  Cape  Sable  in  a  blustering  west  wind,  across  and  down 
Barnes's  Sound  and  Florida  Bay.  Indeed,  we  had  a  lively  time 
of  it,  now  drenched,  then  becalmed,  by  day  studying  birds 
and  the  formation  of  the  curious  mangrove  keys,  at  night 
cooking  supper  upon  some  uninhabited  key  or  projection  of 
the  mainland,  eating  in  a  smudge,  and  then  seeking  refuge 
from  the  fierce  mosquitoes  under  our  nets.  On  a  certain 
peninsula  where  we  camped  one  night  the  pests  were  simply 
unendurable.  They  settled  upon  the  net  literally  in  quarts, 
and,  despite  all  care,  many  of  them  found  their  way  inside. 
All  night  long  they  kept  up  an  angry  roar.  In  the  morning 
when  we  crawled  out  they  attacked  us  with  so  terrible  an 
onslaught  that  we  could  not  think  of  delaying  for  breakfast, 
but  made  sail  immediately. 

First  and  last  I  made  a  quite  complete  exploration  of  the 
more  remote  and  inaccessible  portion  of  the  Florida  Keys, 
where  birds  would  be  most  likely  to  resort.  I  ascertained  that 
most  of  the  water-birds  have  been  driven  by  persecution  from 
the  keys,  and  now  breed  on  the  mainland,  in  the  morasses 
of  the  Everglades  and  the  tangles  of  the  great  mangrove 
swamp,  whither  I  followed  them.  Then  it  was  I  encountered 
the  real  hardships  of  the  trip.  While  the  cruise  among  the 
Keys  had  its  inconveniences,  it  was  a  most  interesting  and 
delightful  experience.  The  weather  was  mostly  fine,  with 
equable  temperatures,  the  climate  healthful,  the  quaint  man- 


4o 


WILD  WINGS 


grove  islands  interesting,  the  sea  beautiful  in  its  various  hues, 
—  emerald  green,  cobalt  blue,  milky  white,  —  and  there  were 
still  enough  of  rare  and  beautiful  birds  to  maintain  a  constant 
enthusiasm  and  expectancy.  Possibly  the  reality  did  not  quite 
match  the  day-dreams,  but  as  the  years  go  by  that  cruise 
among  the  Keys  of  Florida  will  be  among  the  brightest  of 
recurring  memories. 


NOT   SO   WELL-BRED   WERE   A    TRIO    IN    A    NEIGHBORING   NEST 


"  A    PAIR   OF   SPLENDID   WHITE    PELICANS  " 


CHAPTER   III 


IN    THE    CAPE    SABLE    WILDERNESS 


Soon  were  lost  in  a  maze  0f  sluggish  and  devious  waters, 
Which,  like  a  network  of  steel,  extended  in  every  direction. 
Over  their  heads  the  towering  and  tenebrous  boughs  of  the  cypress 

Met  in  a  dusky  arch,  and  trailing  mosses  in  mid-air 

Waved  like  banners  that  hang  on  the  walls  of  ancient  cathedrals. 

Deathlike  the  silence  seemed,  and  unbroken,  save  by  the  herons. 

LONGFELLOW,  "  Evangeline." 

IT  was  a  cool,  sparkling  morning,  with  a  bracing  north- 
erly wind,  the  twenty-sixth  of  April,  when  we  shoved  the 
tender  over  the  slippery  "  soap-flat,"  and,  in  boots  loaded 
with  the  tenacious  white  clay  mud,  stood  upon  the  southern- 
most tip  of  the  mainland  of  the  United  States.    An  almost 
unbroken,  unsurveyed  wilderness  lay  before  us,  with  all  its 
interesting  possibilities.    A  handful  of  settlers  had  taken  up 
'claims  of  government  land  along  the  shore,  cleared  a  few 


42  WILD  WINGS 

openings  in  the  mangroves,  and  built  their  crude  cottages  or 
curious  palmetto  shacks.  Back  from  the  strip  of  timber  on  the 
shore  is,  near  Cape  Sable,  a  moderate  area  of  marshy  prairie, 
which  is  flooded  in  the  summer  rainy  season.  Aside  from 
this,  all  the  Cape  Sable  peninsula  is  a  wild,  tangled,  pathless, 
swampy  jungle  of  red  and  black  mangrove,  button  wood,  and 
other  trees,  extending  back  a  number  of  miles  to  the  open 
saw-grass  marshes  of  the  Everglades.  In  the  embraces  of  this 
mangrove  swamp  lie  a  series  of  shallow  lakes  with  muddy 
bottoms,  connected  together  by  various  channels  through  the 
mangrove  thickets,  and  more  or  less  overflowed  by  the  sea, 
when  stormy  winds  pile  the  water  up  into  the  shallow  bays. 
The  whole  country  is  as  flat  as  a  floor,  and  hardly  above  sea 
level. 

Both  of  our  guides  lived  here  with  their  families  in  the 
wilderness,  where  they  had  taken  up  government  land  for 
fruit-raising  close  to  the  shore.  One  of  them  owned  an  un- 
completed building,  partly  open  on  one  side,  which  we  found 
ideal  for  a  camp  and  base  of  supplies.  Leaving  a  guide  and 
another  settler  to  transfer  our  stuff  from  the  vessel,  and  delay- 
ing only  long  enough  to  examine  the  nest  of  a  Florida  Red- 
shouldered  Hawk  with  its  one  youthful  occupant  just  able  to 
fly,  located  in  a  strip  of  black  mangroves  near  the  shore,  we 
struck  inland  with  the  other  guide  —  Bradley,  the  game- 
warden  of  Monroe  County  —  to  visit  a  lake  which  lay  several 
miles  north  through  the  mangrove  swamp.  There  was  no 
boat  in  the  lonely  lake,  but  the  guide  proposed  to  carry  a 
canvas  canoe.  This  we  found  hidden  in  the  confines  of  the 
swamp.  It  weighed  over  fifty  pounds,  and,  as  we  pushed  on 
hour  after  hour  through  the  maze  of  mangrove  roots  and 
tropical  jungle,  following  a  trail  so  blind  that  we  often  lost  it, 
I  was  amazed  at  the  strength  of  the  hardy  pioneer  who 
carried  it,  a  man  of  only  moderate  weight  and  size. 


IN   THE   CAPE   SABLE   WILDERNESS 


43 


NEST   AND   YOUNG   OF   THE   WOOD    IBIS,    BUILT   ON    THE    TOPS    OF   THE    MANGROVES 

Taking  an  occasional  rest,  during  one  of  which  Bradley 
climbed  to  the  nest  of  a  Red-shouldered  Hawk  in  a  slender 
tree,  bringing  the  one  young  hawk  down  for  me  to  photo- 
graph, and  returning  it  again  to  its  home,  about  noon  we  were 
rejoiced  to  catch  sight,  through  the  trees,  of  the  lake,  which 
we  began  to  fear  we  had  missed.  It  was  about  a  mile  long, 
with  densely  wooded  shores,  a  mere  layer  of  water  over  a  bed 
of  soft  mud.  Up  near  the  farther  end  we  could  see  an  islet 
with  a  lot  of  snow-white  birds  roosting  on  the  trees.  As  we 
paddled  out  toward  it  in  the  canoe,  several  alligators  appeared 
ahead  of  us,  swimming  desperately  in  their  race  for  deeper 
water  and  supposed  security.  Now  and  then  they  would  raise 
and  turn  their  snouts  to  get  an  observation  of  our  progress, 
then  paddle  away  again.  Poor  brutes,  they  know  that  their 
hides  are  wanted  for  purposes  not  agreeable  to  them ! 


44  WILD   WINGS 

As  we  neared  the  island,  I  saw  that  the  white  birds  were 
the  great  Wood  Ibis,  technically  a  stork,  the  American  repre- 
sentative of  that  much-reputed  bird  of  the  Orient.  Our  bird 
is  likewise  an  imposing  creature  that  stands  nearly  as  high 
as  a  man,  clad  in  spotless  white,  save  for  the  black  extrem- 
ities of  the  wings.  "  As  for  the  stork,  the  fir  trees  are  her 
house."  Similarly  is  our  stork  apt  to  choose  the  immense 
cypress  timber,  where,  in  the  interior  of  Florida,  I  have  found 
them  nesting  over  one  hundred  feet  from  the  ground  in  inac- 
cessible security.  Here  it  was  delightful  to  see  them  upon  the 
tops  of  low  mangroves,  evidently  a  nesting  colony.  The  great 
birds  rose  when  we  were  at  quite  a  distance,  and  circled  far 
off  over  the  swamp,  together  with  a  vagrant  crew  of  buzzards. 
Meanwhile  we  could  see  a  few  Brown  Pelicans  fishing  in 
the  lake,  and  an  occasional  Black-crowned  Night  Heron, 
Louisiana  Heron,  or  Anhinga  with  its  snaky  neck,  flying 
across  it. 

As  we  landed  on  the  muddy  islet,  densely  overgrown  with 
red  mangroves,  we  heard  the  hoarse  voices  of  young  birds 
beyond  us,  that,  in  almost  human  tones,  seemed  to  reiterate, 
"Get  out !  Get  out ! "  It  was  not  easy  to  transport  the  cameras 
over  the  treacherous  tract,  full  of  deceitful  mud-holes,  but 
after  a  struggle  I  arrived  beneath  the  nests  —  large  platforms 
of  sticks,  whitewashed  and  stinking,  about  fifteen  feet  above 
my  head,  built  on  the  tops  of  the  mangroves.  Very  soon  I  was 
overlooking  them.  There  were  eighteen,  all  told,  within  an 
area  of  a  few  rods,  and  each  contained  two  or  three  young 
birds,  pure  white  in  color,  about  the  size  of  large  pullets,  with 
heavy-looking  bills.  It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  had 
looked  into  a  stork's  nest,  and  happy  was  I  in  the  blazing 
Florida  sun  upon  the  mangrove-tops. 

To  photograph  these  stork  homes  proved  to  be  a  problem 
indeed.  Built  upon  the  topmost  twigs  of  very  slender  trees, 


JN   THE   CAPE  SABLE  WILDERNESS          45 

almost  bushes,  it  was  hard  enough  to  get  one's  head  above 
them,  to  say  nothing  of  a  camera,  and  of  course  there  was 
nothing  to  which  to  fasten  the  instrument.  Finally  I  selected 
the  most  convenient  trees,  tied  several  of  them  together  with 
some  cord,  and  had  the  guide  hold  them  up  as  I  mounted 
and  stood  gingerly  upon  their  tops,  overlooking  the  nests, 


YOUNG   WOOD    IBIS    POSED    FOR   A    PORTRAIT 

but  with  nothing  to  hold  on  to.  With  no  less  care  I  hoisted 
up  my'  ten-pound  5x7  reflex  camera,  and,  thanks  to  the 
good  light,  was  able  to  make  successful  snap-shot  pictures  of 
several  of  the  nests.  This  being  done,  I  descended  safely, 
taking  with  me  one  of  the  young  Wood  Ibises,  which  I  posed 
for  portraits  upon  the  ground. 

Another  small  island  was  quite  near  by,  where  I  should  have 


46  WILD   WINGS 

liked  to  hide  for  an  hour  or  two,  to  secure  pictures  of  the  shy 
returning  ibises  as  they  alighted  upon  their  nests.  But  already 
the  day  was  waning,  and  we  had  the  long,  hard  tramp  before 
us.  For  want  of  time,  another  lake  connected  with  this  one 
was  left  unexplored. 

How  we  suffered  that  day  from  thirst !  We  had  been  told 
that  we  could  get  fresh  water  here.  But  a  combination  of  low 
water  inland  and  high  tides  seaward  had  made  the  water 
brackish  and  poisonous.  I  became  so  parched  climbing  and 
photographing  that  I  yielded  to  temptation,  and  was  sorry 
enough,  as  for  the  next  few  days  I  lay  in  camp  under  a  mos- 
quito-net sick  with  dysentery  and  fever.  It  was  about  eighty 
miles,  two  days'  sail,  to  the  nearest  medical  aid,  at  Key  West. 
Our  vessel  was  gone,  and  another  which  we  had  engaged 
had  not  arrived.  I  seemed  to  be  caught  like  a  rat  in  a  trap. 
But  finally  raw  white  of  egg  —  a  good  thing  to  remember 
—  checked  the  dysentery,  and  I  was  at  length  able  to  resume 
the  exploration,  though  for  a  time  rather  weak. 

A  dry  and  thirsty  land  is  Cape  Sable,  with  all  its  swamps, 
overflowed  as  they  are  by  the  sea,  and  no  drinking  water 
to  be  had,  save  from  the  clouds.  Our  water-barrels  were 
nearly  empty  ;  so  one  night,  when  a  vessel  had  been  secured, 
we  dropped  off  the  soap-flat  and  sailed  westward  around  Cape 
Sable  and  up  near  "  Middle  Cape,"  where  at  last  we  found  a 
tolerable  well,  from  which  to  fill  the  casks.  Along  the  "  Capes  " 
there  are  no  mud-flats,  but  deep  water  extends  close  in  to  the 
fine  beach  of  shell-sand.  Here  a  chain  of  lakes  approaches 
very  near  the  coast,  and  we  took  the  opportunity  to  explore 
them.  The  lone  settler  here  kindly  lent  us  his  boat,  a  flat 
scow,  propelled  by  poling.  These  lakes  are  the  resorts  of  large 
numbers  of  the  American  White  Pelicans,  that  usually  breed 
in  the  far  North.  Yet  I  was  not  without  hope  that  possibly 
we  might  find  them  nesting  in  this  Southern  wilderness. 


IN   THE   CAPE  SABLE   WILDERNESS          49 

The  first  lake  was  quite  a  large  one,  several  miles  long. 
We  poled  past  various  little  mangrove  islands,  starting  num- 
bers of  Brown  Pelicans  and  Florida  Cormorants  from  some 
of  them,  where  they  were  roosting  upon  dead  stubs  at  their 
shores.  Then  we  followed  a  narrow  channel  through  the  man- 
grove forest,  the  connection  with  the  next  lake  of  the  series. 
White  Ibises  and  Yellow-crowned  Night  Herons  kept  flying 
up  before  us  to  enliven  the  scene.  Presently  we  came  out  into 
the  lake.  It  also  was  very  shallow,  with  bare  mud-flats  here 
and  there,  on  which  were  scattered  quite  a  host  of  birds. 
Conspicuous  and  noisy  were  a  flock  of  Laughing  Gulls.  Less 
conspicuous,  but  even  more  interesting  to  us,  were  the 
shore-birds,  which  we  found  abundant  both  in  this  spot  and 
elsewhere  during  the  day.  Right  before  us  upon  the  flat 
a  fine  band  of  the  large  Black-bellied  Plover,  and  around 
them  a  humble  host  of  various  sandpipers,  Ring-necked 
Plovers,  Dowitchers,  and  the  like,  were  feeding,  sedately  or 
nimbly,  as  the  case  might  be.  But,  dwarfing  them  into  insig- 
nificance by  physical  contrast,  there  stood  sleepily  a  pair  of 
splendid  White  Pelicans,  with  bodies  as  large  and  plump  as 
the  roundest  pillows  of  the  daintiest  couch.  We  landed  just 
where  we  were,  and  I  skulked  with  my  camera  along  the 
shore,  under  shelter  of  the  forest,  till  I  was  delightfully  near  the 
unconscious  pelicans.  I  was  almost  ready  for  an  exposure 
when  away  they  went,  alarmed  evidently  by  the  boat.  They 
alighted  about  a  mile  off  out  on  a  flat,  where  I  stalked  them 
under  cover  of  an  island  and  secured  some  telephoto  pictures 
of  them,  though  at  longer  range  than  I  could  have  wished. 
As  soon  as  I  showed  myself  they  flapped  heavily  away. 

Thus  we  proceeded,  visiting  in  all  four  or  five  connecting 
lakes,  examining  a  number  of  islands,  but  without  finding  any 
rookeries  of  breeding  birds,  or  seeing  any  more  White  Peli- 
cans. These  last  were  plenty  here  a  month  ago,  but  they  had 


50  WILD   WINGS 

now  evidently  departed  for  their  Northern  grounds,  and  there 
is  no  likelihood  that  the  species  ever  breeds  in  Florida.  Yet 
we  were  glad  we  had  visited  this  chain  of  lakes.  Hawks  and 
eagles  circled  about,  herons  and  ibises  flapped  along,  shore- 
birds  of  many  interesting  varieties  prodded  the  mud  and 
whistled  their  piping  notes.  In  fact,  nature  was  so  lavish 
that  in  one  narrow  place  in  the  lake,  between  an  island  and 
the  shore,  two  young  tarpons,  of  fair  size  for  eating,  leaped 
out  of  the  water  and  right  into  the  boat,  as  though,  with  true 
Southern  hospitality,  to  offer  themselves  for  the  pleasure  and 
comfort  of  the  visitors  from  the  North.  But,  in  an  unlucky 
moment,  I  gave  the  larger  one  a  push  with  my  foot  to  get  it 
out  of  the  way,  and  imparted  just  enough  impetus  to  enable 
it  to  spring  out  again  into  its  native  element. 

Returning  to  our  vessel,  we  sailed  back  as  far  as  the  ex- 
treme projection  of  Cape  Sable,  and  anchored  under  the  lee  of 
the  beach,  opposite  a  fine  grove  of  cocoanut  palms.  Here  it 
was  that  another  decided  reverse  overtook  me.  I  was  the  first 
one  awake  in  the  morning,  and  was  horrified  at  the  sight 
which  greeted  me.  In  beaching  the  vessel  to  get  the  water- 
casks  aboard,  a  serious  leak  had  been  started,  and  the  floors, 
both  in  cabin  and  hold,  were  under  water.  And  there  were 
my  two  cases  of  photographic  plates  —  alas  !  no  longer  "  dry 
plates" — standing  half  submerged.  Feeling  almost  sick,  I 
spread  the  pasteboard  boxes  out  on  deck.  About  half  were 
thoroughly  soaked,  others  were  damp,  and  about  a  third, 
those  in  the  top  layers,  were  all  right.  It  looked  as  though 
my  camera-hunting  had  received  a  severe  handicap.  How- 
ever, I  kept  the  damaged  boxes  out  in  the  wind,  and,  when 
we  reached  camp,  put  them  in  a  dry  and  airy  place.  To  this 
treatment  and  to  the  fact  that  the  plates  were  of  brands  whose 
makers  in  packing  them  separate  their  faces  by  strips  along 
the  edges,  I  owe  the  final  saving  of  most  of  them.  In  many 


IN  THE  CAPE  SABLE  WILDERNESS 


cases  the  strips  stuck  to  the  edge  of  the  film,  but  this  did  not 
seriously  interfere  with  the  usefulness  of  the  plate.  For  future 
outings  I  shall  always  use  plates  thus  put  up,  avoiding  those 
packed  with  films  in  contact. 

After  the  departure  of  the  other  members  of  the  company, 
I  camped  for  a  week,  with  our  guide,  at  our  old  headquarters. 
Poor  forlorn  country !  Though  the  soil  is  suitable  for  the 
raising  of  tropical  fruits, 
the  lack  of  fresh  water  and 
the  terrible  insect  scourge 
make  it  simply  torture  to 
stay  there.  Clouds  of  mos- 
quitoes allow  their  victim 
not  a  moment's  peace.  One 
must  wear  thick  clothes, 
and  either  don  gloves  and 
screen-hat,  or  fight  all  the 
time.  In  camp  mustbe  main- 
tained a  constant  smudge, 
preferably  of  dead  wood  of 
the  black  mangrove,  which 
"  skeets  "  and  man  alike  de- 
test. The  name  of  the  pest 
is  thus  abbreviated  in  Cape 
Sable  dialect,  because  it  is 
the  theme  of  themes,  and  it 

takes  too  long  to  keep  saying  "  mosquito."  Photographing 
under  these  circumstances  is  decidedly  an  ordeal.  Settlers 
who  pretend  to  any  comfort  at  all  screen  their  houses,  and 
keep  outside  the  door  a  brush  of  palmetto  leaves,  with  which 
every  visitor  must  beat  off  the  stinging  swarm  before  dodging 
within.  Other  settlers  keep  the  smudge-pot  going,  and  live  in 
smoke.  There  are  also  swarms  of  a  terrible  great  fly,  an  inch 


WHITE    IBISES    IN    "  FLIGHT-LINE  "    FOR 
THE    ROOKERY 


52  WILD  WINGS 

and  a  quarter  in  length,  whose  bite  is  like  a  knife-thrust, 
with  a  corresponding  flow  of  blood.  No  domestic  animal  but 
the  mule  can  support  life  in  such  a  country,  and  that  hardy 
animal  only  by  being  kept  in  a  screened  stable  and  bundled 
up  in  burlap  when  taken  out  to  work. 

One  Sunday  I  attended  a  religious  service  in  a  building 
used  as  chapel  and  school-house.  The  women  wheeled  the 
children  there  in  baby-carriages,  under  each  of  which  was 
tied  a  smudge-pot.  So  the  carriage  rolled  along,  enveloped 
in  smoke  and  an  outlying  cloud  of  "  skeets "  and  flies.  In 
the  building  smudges  were  going  all  the  time,  while  the 
congregation  slapped  " skeets"  and  the  children  chased 
horse-flies. 

One  of  my  best  and  hardest  excursions  was  made  one  day 
to  a  lake  six  miles  away,  or  rather  to  its  vicinity,  for  of  the 
lake  I  saw  nothing.  A  tipcart  drawn  by  a  mule  swathed 
from  head  to  foot  in  burlap,  save  for  its  eyes  and  projecting 
ears,  —  the  most  spectacular  turnout  it  was  ever  my  fortune 
to  see,  —  took  us  half  the  distance.  Then  the  guide  and 
I  walked  three  miles  over  an  open  grassy  marsh.  In  one  spot, 
by  a  mud-hole,  he  showed  me  the  skeleton  of  a  crocodile 
which  he  had  killed  some  weeks  before.  Already  we  could 
tell  the  direction  of  the  rookery  from  the  bands  of  ibises  of 
both  kinds  which  flew  up  from  the  marsh  where  they  were 
feeding  and  "  lined  "  the  way  to  the  home-spot,  bearing  food 
for  their  young,  as  also  did  herons  and  egrets. 

When  we  neared  the  edge  of  the  lake,  which  was  properly 
a  sort  of  everglade  morass,  and  tried  to  get  to  the  swampy 
woods  where  the  rookery  was  evidently  located,  our  real  trou- 
bles began,  compared  with  which  "  skeets  "  were  as  nothing. 
Rivers  of  soft,  treacle-like  mud  proved  absolutely  impassable. 
Finally  we  got  across  a  wide  ditch  and  encountered  a  tract 
of  tall  dry  saw-grass,  "  snaky "  and  impenetrable.  A  match 


IN  THE  CAPE  SABLE  WILDERNESS 


53 


was  applied,  and  after  the  roaring  sea  of  flame  had  passed, 
we  went  on.  Then  we  encountered  a  tropical  jungle,  a  solid 
mass  of  roots,  vines,  scrub  palmettos,  and  the  like.  The  guide 
went  ahead  and  cut  openings  with  a  case-knife,  through 


WHITE  IBISES.    "THE  TREES  WERE  FAIRLY  ALIVE  WITH  SPLENDID  GREAT  BIRDS" 

which  we  crawled.  After  half  an  hour  of  this  came  a  saw- 
grass  bog,  an  area  of  water  and  quaking  tussocks,  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  wide.  How  we  ever  managed  to  flounder  across, 
dragging  one  another  out  of  holes,  I  hardly  know.  But  we 
reached,  at  length,  the  tract  of  woods  into  which  returning 
ibises,  herons,  and  egrets  were  dropping,  and  from  which  we 
could  hear  a  confused  murmur  of  distant  squawking. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  sight  that  greeted  me  as  I  emerged 
from  the  tangle,  and  came  to  the  edge  of  one  of  the  impass- 


54  WILD   WINGS 

able  muddy  bayous,  about  thirty  feet  wide,  bordered  by  thick- 
ets of  mangrove.  The  trees  were  fairly  alive  with  splendid 
great  birds  and  their  half-grown  young.  The  most  abundant 
was  the  White  Ibis,  a  fine  creature,  snow-white,  with  black 
wing-tips  and  brilliant  red  legs  and  bills,  both  long,  the  latter 
decurved.  They  are  locally  called  "  White  Curlews,"  and  are 
esteemed  as  one  of  the  best  and  most  abundant  food-birds  of 
the  region.  Their  young  are  of  a  dark  gray  color,  with  white 
on  the  rump,  and  were  now  in  the  stage  when,  though  unable 
to  fly,  they  had  left  the  nests.  The  woods  were  fairly  alive 
with  them.  Droves  of  them  raced  over  the  ground  under  the 
mangroves  or  climbed  among  the  branches  in  all  directions. 

Next  in  abundance  was  the  little  Louisiana  Heron,  the 
common  blue-gray  species  with  white  under  parts,  whose 
young  were  in  about  the  same  condition  as  the  young  ibises, 
and  mingled  with  them.  Across  the  bayou  we  could  hear, 
though  not  see,  the  large,  graceful,  snow-white  American 
Egrets,  and  their  young.  As  with  the  peacock,  beauty  of 
form  and  plumage  is  not  matched  with  sweetness  of  song, 
and  this  lovely  dream  of  a  bird  speaks  in  harshest,  rattling 
grunts.  Much  the  same  is  true  of  the  elegant  little  Snowy 
Heron,  of  plumage  as  its  name  implies,  a  few  of  which  we 
could  see  dropping  into  the  woods  beyond  our  muddy  Jordan. 

But  what  almost  paralyzed  me  with  excitement  was  the 
sight  of  half  a  dozen  or  so  of  large  rosy-pink  birds  quietly 
perched  upon  the  trees  just  opposite  us  across  the  barrier  — 
the  Roseate  Spoonbill  on  its  nesting-ground !  Now  and  then 
a  rosy  apparition  of  flying  loveliness  would  take  the  eye. 
What  a  spectacle,  the  dark  green  mangrove  foliage  dotted 
with  ibises  of  dazzling  whiteness,  "  Pink  Curlews  "  (the  local 
name),  and  blue-tinted  herons  !  Here  I  felt  I  had  reached 
the  high-water  mark  of  spectacular  sights  in  the  bird-world. 
Wherever  I  may  penetrate  in  future  wanderings,  I  never 


IN  THE  CAPE  SABLE  WILDERNESS 


55 


hope  to  see  anything  to  surpass,  or,  in  some  respects,  to 
equal,  that  upon  which  I  now  gazed.  Years  ago  such  sights 
could  be  found  all  over  Florida  and  other  Southern  States. 


YOUNG   WHITE    IBISES   AND   LOUISIANA   HERONS 

(The  three  middle  ones  are  Herons) 

This  is  the  last  pitiful  remnant  of  hosts  of  innocent,  exquisite 
creatures  slaughtered  for  a  brutal,  senseless,  yes,  criminal, 
millinery  folly,  decreed  by  Parisian  butterflies,  which  many 
supposedly  free  Americans  slavishly  follow.  Florida  has  awak- 


56  WILD  WINGS 

ened  to  her  loss,  and  imposes  a  very  heavy  fine  for  every 
one  of  these  birds  killed.  Sincerely  do  I  wish  that  every  one 
who  slaughters,  or  causes  to  be  slaughtered,  these  animated 
bits  of  winged  poetry,  may  feel  the  full  weight  of  the  penalty 
of  the  statute  and  of  conscience.  Such  inaccessible  tangles 


YOUNG   WHITE   IBIS   ON    ITS   NEST 


of  southern  Florida  are  the  last  places  of  refuge,  the  last 
ditch  of  the  struggle  for  existence  to  which  these  splendid 
species  have  been  driven. 

As  long  as  I  kept  very  quiet,  the  birds  did  not  manifest 
much  concern  at  my  presence.  Climbing  a  tree,  to  get  above 
the  undergrowth,  I  screwed  my  4x5  camera  to  a  limb  and 
proceeded  to  take  pictures  of  the  surrounding  birds,  with 


IN  THE  CAPE  SABLE  WILDERNESS 


57 


telephoto  and  with  long-focus  single  lens.  This  being  done, 
I  took  the  large  reflex  camera  for  snap-shots  and  proceeded 
along  the  bayou,  hoping  to  find  some  way  to  cross.  Every 
time  I  tumbled  into  a  mud-hole  or  snapped  a  twig  there  was 
wild  confusion.  The  air  was  white  with  ibises.  Crowds  of 


CONTAINED  FOUR  YOUNG  SNOWY  HERONS 


young  ibises  and  herons  fluttered  down  from  the  sea  of  rude 
nests  of  twigs  in  the  trees  above  and  scurried  and  flapped 
across  the  mud,  to  get  out  of  my  way.  By  using  caution  I 
secured  some  snap-shots  of  these  youngsters  on  the  branches, 
and  a  few  of  some  young  ibis  or  other  in  its  nest.  More  than 
one  of  the  latter  at  a  time  I  could  not  obtain,  as  some  of  the 
brood  would  always  leave  before  I  was  near  enough. 

The  day  was  now  far  on  the  wane,  and  yet  we  had  not 


58  WILD  WINGS 

crossed  the  bayou  into  the  main  part  of  the  rookery.  About 
four  P.  M.  we  reached  a  place  where  it  came  nearly  to  an 
end,  and,  thanks  to  a  fallen  tree,  we  managed  to  flounder 
across.  The  very  first  nest  I  examined,  about  six  feet  from  the 
ground,  contained  four  young  Snowy  Herons.  While  I  was 
standing  there,  the  queenly  mother,  exquisite  with  her  back- 
load  of  elegant  drooping  "  aigrette"  plumes,  flew  down  and 
fed  her  princely  children.  About  twenty-five  feet  up  the  next 
tree,  also  a  black  mangrove,  was  another  bunch  of  sticks  in 
a  crotch.  A  sort  of  pinkish  flush  around  its  edge  led  me  to 
climb  to  it,  and  I  gazed  upon  three  young  Roseate  Spoon- 
bills. They  were  perhaps  a  third  grown,  and  were  clad  in 
a  whitish  down,  through  which  pink  feathers,  especially  on 
the  wings,  were  growing.  If  the  young  herons  were  princely, 
surely  we  must  call  these  royal,  clad  in  what  could  pass  for 
kingly  "  purple."  A  little  distance  away  were  a  brood  of 
young  spoonbills,  nearly  grown,  that  were  scrambling  out 
of  their  nest.  On  the  tree-tops  around  perched  a  scattered 
company  of  White  Ibises,  Louisiana  and  Snowy  Herons,  and 
the  elegant  pink  creatures  of  the  soup-ladle  bill,  looking  down 
upon  us  in  silent  fear  and  protest  at  the  intrusion. 

My  plates  were  nearly  all  used,  but  I  expended  the  remain- 
ing few  judiciously  among  the  mass  of  wonderful  material, 
taking  briefly  timed  exposures  with  the  smaller  camera 
screwed  up  near  the  nests,  and  slow  snaps  with  the  "  Reflex," 
with  single  lens,  at  the  "  Pink  Curlews  "  upon  the  trees.  Then 
the  guide  fairly  dragged  me  back,  despite  my  protests  that 
I  had  not  yet  seen  the  nests  of  the  American  Egrets  or  of 
the  Wood  Ibises  beyond.  But  it  was  very  necessary  to  get  out 
of  that  morass  before  sundown.  After  a  hard  struggle  we 
succeeded  in  so  doing,  but  with  unspeakable  regret  on  my 
part  over  what  I  was  leaving  behind. 

If  ever  in  my  life  I  was  thoroughly  tired  out,  it  was  when,  in 


IN   THE   CAPE   SABLE   WILDERNESS 


59 


the  dim  twilight,  staggering  along  with  a  back-load  of  stuff, 
we  returned  to  our  mule  tied  to  the  palm-tree.  Poor  beast, 
those  Cape  Sable  horse-flies  had  reduced  him  to  a  sorry 
state,  despite  his  suit  of  armor.  His  legs  were  dripping  with 
blood,  and  he  was  so  frantic  with  pain  that  it  was  at  great 
risk  that  we  harnessed  him  and  avoided  the  flying  hoofs. 


SPOONBILL    AND    IBIS    WATCHING    THE    INTRUDERS 

Accounts  which  I  have  seen,  by  naturalists  who  have 
skirted  the  coast  about  Cape  Sable  and  Barnes's  Sound,  de- 
scribe it  as  "  a  forbidding  and  awful  wilderness."  The  inter- 
minable swamp  with  its  always  impenetrable  jungle  of  man- 
groves and  other  low  trees  extends  to  the  very  water's  edge. 
To  make  a  landing,  one  must  wade  a  long  distance  through 
the  sticky  mud,  and  begin  the  ceaseless  battle  with  the  insect 
pests.  During  the  summer  it  rains  heavily  nearly  every  day, 


6o 


WILD  WINGS 


and  the  "  skeets  "  and  flies  become  so  intolerable  that  even 
the  few  settlers  leave  for  a  time.  Some  day  parts  of  it  may 
be  drained  off  and  settled,  but  now  as  I  voyaged  past  the 
wooded  shores,  save  in  a  few  spots  out  towards  Cape  Sable, 
there  was  no  sign  of  human  life,  no  voice  to  break  the  still- 
ness but  the  squawk  of  some  heron,  the  croak  of  the  ibis,  and 
the  angry  murmur  of  the  venomous  insect  swarm.  Who 
would  seek  out  such  a  region  unless  impelled  by  the  spirit  of 
adventure  and  the  love  of  the  wild  things  that  still  find  there 
a  partial  retreat  from  the  encroachments  of  man  ? 


YOUNG    ROSEATE    SPOONBILLS    IN    NEST 


ADULT   LITTLE    BLUE    HERON,  FROM    THE    BOAT 


CHAPTER    IV 


THE  GREAT  CUTHBERT  ROOKERY 

For  this  outrage  I  heard  the  poor  bird 

Say  a  thoiisand  mournful  things 
To  the  wind,  which,  on  its  wings, 

To  the  guardian  of  the  sky 
Bore  her  melancholy  cry. 

DE  VILLEGAS,  translated. 

AlOUT  fifteen  years  ago  it  was  known  to  the  plume- 
hunters  that  somewhere  in  the  great  mangrove  swamp 
near  the  southern  extremity  of  Florida  was  a  very 
large  rookery,   or  breeding  colony,  of  herons,   egrets,  and 
other  water-birds.    Hitherto  all  efforts  to  locate  it  had  proved 
unavailing  —  a  fact  which  will  surprise  no  one  who  has  been 
even  to  the  portals  of  that  terrible  wilderness.    At  length, 
an  individual  named  Cuthbert,  with  a  hardihood  worthy  of 
a  better  cause,  made  a  business  of  tracing  out  this  mysterious 


62  WILD  WINGS 

rookery.  Starting  from  the  southern  end  of  the  west  coast, 
probably  somewhere  on  Whitewater  Bay,  he  watched  the 
flight  of  the  birds,  formed  a  conclusion  as  to  the  exact 
direction  of  their  course,  and  plunged  into  the  bewildering 
maze  of  the  mangrove  swamp.  Carrying  a  meagre  outfit 
and  a  light  canoe,  he  slept  among  the  mangrove  roots  where 
night  overtook  him.  From  time  to  time  he  climbed  a  tree 
and  verified  his  course  by  that  of  the  birds.  Now  and  then 
he  utilized  one  of  the  muddy,  brackish  lakes,  and  secured 
a  few  moments'  rest,  as  he  paddled  across,  from  the  worst 
of  the  innumerable  hordes  of  mosquitoes  that  there  make 
the  life  of  man  almost  intolerable. 

How  many  days  he  was  thus  engaged  is  not  known,  but 
at  length,  forcing  his  canoe  through  a  narrow,  overgrown 
channel  from  one  of  these  lakes,  which  seemed  to  lead  to 
some  other  body  of  water,  he  came  out  into  a  round,  open 
lake,  a  mile  and  a  half  across.  Out  in  the  middle  of  it  he  saw 
a  small  island  of  about  two  acres,  densely  overgrown  with 
mangrove  trees,  whose  dark  foliage  was  almost  hidden  under 
a  canopy  of  snow-white  birds,  —  ibises,  herons,  and  egrets,  — 
with  others  of  darker  plumage. 

It  must  have  been  a  beautiful  and  wonderful  sight,  a  theme 
for  the  artist,  a  vision  for  the  poet.  But  our  plume-hunter  was 
not  that  sort  of  a  man  ;  the  aesthetic  side  was  lost  upon  him. 
Making  a  closer  investigation,  he  found  that  the  island  was 
crowded  by  innumerable  thousands  of  several  kinds  of  birds, 
some  of  them  the  species  whose  plumage  would  bring  the 
highest  prices.  There  they  were,  the  nesting-season  at  its 
height,  brooding  their  eggs  and  feeding  their  young. 

Did  Cuthbert  spread  the  joyful  news  among  the  Seminole 
Indians,  the  widely  scattered  settlers,  or  the  outlaws  that  are 
in  hiding  in  the  swamps?  Not  at  all.  He  pondered  these 
things  in  his  own  heart,  with  a  mercenary  intent.  The  snap 


THE  GREAT   CUTHBERT   ROOKERY  65 

of  his  tiny  Flobert  rifle,  inaudible  a  few  rods  away,  attracted 
the  attention  of  no  wandering  alligator-hunter.  Weeks  went 
by,  and  matters  were  very  different  upon  the  island.  No  bird 
now  winged  its  way  to  the  solitude,  save  hordes  of  Turkey 
Buzzards  and  Fish  Crows.  In  the  thousands  of  nests  were 
swarms  of  flies  around  the  decaying  bodies  of  young  birds 
that  had  starved  to  death.  On  the  ground  were  reeking  piles 
of  the  bodies  of  their  natural  protectors,  each  with  strips  of 
skin  and  plumage  torn  from  its  back.  The  rookery  was,  as 
the  local  term  has  it,  "  shot  out."  The  buzzards  were  gorged 
and  happy,  and  so  was  the  brutal  Cuthbert  over  his  $1800 
from  the  wholesale  milliners,  so  the  story  goes. 

Quite  recently  my  friend  and  guide,  the  game-warden,  had 
visited  the  spot,  and,  finding  that  quite  a  colony  of  birds  had 
located  there  again,  posted  warning  game-protection  notices. 
Naturally  I  was  anxious  to  visit  this  remarkable  place,  but 
had  to  let  the  rest  of  the  party  go  there  first  without  me, 
when  I  lay  in  the  Cape  Sable  shanty  ill  from  drinking  swamp- 
water.  But  after  they  had  returned  home,  I  took  the  trip 
alone  with  the  guide. 

The  first  stage  of  the  journey  was  made  in  a  small 
open  sail-boat,  with  a  flat-bottomed  skiff  in  tow,  about  twelve 
miles  eastward  from  camp,  along  the  coast-line,  up  into  the 
shallows  of  Barnes's  Sound.  When  the  first-mentioned  party 
went,  a  strong  northeast  wind  had  blown  most  of  the  water 
out  of  the  sound,  and  they  had  to  wade  the  "  soft  soap  "  mud 
and  push  the  boat  for  no  less  than  ten  of  the  dozen  miles. 
We  were  more  fortunate  in  having  water  enough  for  sailing ; 
but  the  wind  died  out  to  a  flat  calm,  so  that  we  had  to 
row.  About  midnight  we  anchored  off  opposite  our  destina- 
tion, slept  on  some  planks  across  the  thwarts,  and  pulled  the 
sail  over  us  when  the  rain  came  down.  In  the  morning  it 
still  showered,  and  we  hesitated  about  pushing  up  into  the 


66  WILD  WINGS 

mangrove  swamp,  but  at  length  the  clouds  began  to  break, 
and  we  decided  to  go. 

We  left  the  large  boat  anchored  near  the  shore  of  an  inner 
bay,  and  in  the  skiff,  with  blankets,  and  provisions  for  sev- 
eral days,  approached  the  mangrove  thicket  which  lined  the 
shore.  No  opening  whatever  was  visible,  but,  on  pulling 
apart  the  branches  with  our  hands,  we  could  see  a  narrow 
stream  of  water  flowing  out  into  the  sea.  The  branches  closed 
behind  us,  and  we  were  in  the  meshes  of  the  mangrove 
swamp.  The  channel  was  just  wide  enough  to  float  the  skiff. 
Branches  met  overhead  and  shut  out  the  sunlight ;  tangled 
roots  and  snags  reached  everywhere  through  the  water,  across 
which  trunks  or  limbs  had  grown  or  fallen.  Some  of  these 
had  been  chopped  out  previously  by  the  guide,  so  our  task 
was  easier.  But  by  the  time  we  had  sculled  and  paddled, 
poled  and  dragged  the  boat  for  seven  miles  over  and  under 
obstructions,  with  an  occasional  respite  in  crossing  one  of 
the  chain  of  small  lakes  before  entering  the  next  overgrown 
channel,  we  were  glad  enough  to  see  the  desired  lake  open 
up  before  us.  There  lay  the  famous  island,  not  altogether 
white  with  birds,  yet  with  enough  of  them  in  evidence  to 
verify  the  wonderful  tales  I  had  heard.  A  good  many  birds 
were  visible  upon  the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  there  was  a  con- 
stant procession  to  and  from  the  island. 

We  ate  dinner  out  on  the  lake  to  avoid  the  clouds  of 
"skeets,"  then  cleared  a  spot  for  a  camp  in  the  mangrove 
swamp  on  the  shore  nearest  the  island,  after  which  we  pulled 
for  the  rookery.  The  nearer  we  approached,  the  more  birds 
we  could  see,  some  white,  some  black,  and  others  of  interme- 
diate shades.  I  sat  in  the  stern  with  the  reflex  camera  in  my 
lap,  the  slide  withdrawn  from  a  5  x  7  plate,  and  the  focal  plane 
shutter  set  for  one  five-hundredth  of  a  second.  The  sky  was 
well  filled  with  broken  clouds,  through  which  the  sun  shone 


THE  GREAT  CUTHBERT  ROOKERY    67 

unsteadily  at  intervals.  When  we  were  within  a  few  rods  of 
the  island,  the  .guide  thumped  an  oar  upon  the  thwart,  and 
quite  a  cloud  of  White  Ibises  rose  from  the  nearest  man- 
groves, and  gave  me  my  first  picture  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 


ANOTHER    LOT    OF    IBISES   STARTED    UP 


rookery.  Just  as  I  was  ready  for  the  second  shot,  another  lot 
of  ibises  started  up,  with  a  few  of  the  beautiful  snow-white 
American  Egret.  This  was  upon  the  west  side  of  the  island, 
where  most  of  the  ibises  seemed  to  be  located. 


68  WILD   WINGS 

We  now  rowed  round  the  island,  south  and  east,  keeping 
close  in.  A  few  rods  farther,  and  a  lot  of  great  black  Florida 
Cormorants  began  springing  and  fluttering  from  the  low 
mangroves,  to  fly  out  in  bands  over  the  lake  and  alight  out 
in  the  water.  A  little  farther  along,  numbers  of  Little  Blue 
and  Louisiana  Herons  began  to  start  up,  and  then,  with  a 
tremendous  flapping,  out  past  us  would  come  an  Anhinga,  — 
the  curious  "Snake-bird"  or  "  Water  Turkey"  of  the  South, 
—  its  slender,  snake-like  neck  outstretched,  and  the  long  tail 
spread  out  like  a  great  fan.  One  of  them,  surprised  by  the 
boat  near  its  nest,  appeared  completely  terrified,  and  fell  to 
the  water,  along  which  it  went  beating  and  fluttering  past  the 
boat.  This  was  on  the  east  side  of  the  island.  On  the  north 
side  we  began  to  start  the  ibises  again,  and  soon  completed 
the  circuit. 

Once  more  round,  and  I  had  a  goodly  number  of  hopeful 
snap-shots  to  my  credit.  Then  we  landed  on  the  northern  side, 
running  the  boat  up  into  a  sort  of  little  bayou.  Over  us 
arched  the  tangled  branches  of  the  mangroves,  which  grew 
out  into  the  water  from  the  low,  muddy  shore.  Every  step 
was  attended  with  alarm  and  confusion.  The  trees,  not  over 
about  thirty  feet  high  anywhere,  were  filled  with  nests  in 
almost  every  crotch.  The  owners  scrambled  away,  squawk- 
ing in  their  fright,  —  Louisiana  Herons,  White  Ibises,  and 
Anhingas,  at  this  point.  Young  herons  seemed  to  be  every- 
where, pretty  well  grown,  and  were  climbing  and  fluttering 
from  branch  to  branch. 

The  first  nest  that  I  especially  noticed,  close  to  the  boat, 
and  only  ten  feet  above  the  water,  held  four  young  Anhingas, 
perhaps  half-grown,  clad  in  suits  of  buff-colored  down,  with 
some  dark  feathers  sprouting  on  the  wings.  It  was  a  fine 
subject  for  the  camera,  and  I  proceeded  to  climb  a  neighbor- 
ing tree.  As  I  did  so,  one  of  the  youngsters  dropped  head- 


THE  GREAT  CUTHBERT  ROOKERY 


69 


YOUNG   ANHINGAS.    "THE    COVETED   OPPORTUNITY" 

long  to  the  water  beneath,  and  disappeared.  I  could  see 
it  swimming  off  below  the  surface.  Another  climbed  out  of 
the  nest  among  the  branches.  But  the  other  two  stayed 
and  let  me  drive  my  screw-bolt  into  a  limb,  and  set  up 
the  camera.  One  bird  kept  perfectly  still,  but  the  other 
expended  its  energy  in  darting  its  neck  back  and  forth  at 
me  in  serpent  fashion,  and  without  cessation,  an  annoying 


yo  WILD   WINGS 

action,  as  the  nest  was  shaded,  and  required  an  exposure  of 
at  least  a  second,  even  with  wide-open  lens.  It  was  quite 
a  while  before  I  secured  the  coveted  opportunity,  and  could 
proceed  to  photograph  another  brood  of  young  Anhingas 
just  beyond. 

A  few  steps  brought  us  to  the  west  side  of  the  island,  where 
the  White  Ibises  were  nesting  by  hundreds  in  an  area  of 
rather  low  mangroves  growing  out  of  the  water.  Every 
movement  on  our  part  caused  an  uproar  of  croaking  notes 
and  beating  of  wings.  Especially  ominous  to  them  was  the 
snapping  of  a  twig,  possibly  suggesting  the  report  of  the 
small  rifle  of  the  plume-hunters,  though  it  may  have  been 
merely  the  nervous  effect  of  any  sharp  sound.  The  ibis  is 
a  beautiful  bird,  with  its  snow-white  plumage,  contrasting 
with  the  black  tips  of  the  wings  and  the  dark  carmine  red  of 
the  long  bill  and  legs.  With  hundreds  of  them  starting  all 
about  me,  and  passing  and  repassing  overhead,  the  effect  was 
something  beyond  all  words  to  describe. 

Fortunately  the  ibis,  though  timid,  is  not  very  wary.  The 
trees  were  so  thick  that  it  was  very  difficult  to  find  a  place 
open  enough  to  see  the  birds  at  rest.  But  I  found  that  by 
keeping  quiet,  sheltering  myself  somewhat  in  the  under- 
growth, the  ibises  would  light  fairly  near  me.  So  I  erected 
my  smaller  camera  upon  the  tripod,  with  the  telephoto  attach- 
ment, and  secured  some  pictures  of  single  ibises  amid  the 
thick  of  the  mangroves. 

A  little  farther  along,  on  the  south  side  of  the  island,  was 
the  only  real  opening  in  the  trees.  Here,  fortunately  for 
me,  was  a  dead  tree,  upon  which  several  ibises  at  a  time 
would  alight.  A  Louisiana  Heron  stayed  perched  on  a  leafy 
branch  just  above,  and  here  I  was  soon  able  to  take  quite 
a  series  of  telephoto  pictures  of  ibises  and  the  heron.  Shortly 
before  starting  on  the  trip,  I  had  purchased  an  excellent  firm 


THE   GREAT   CUTHBERT   ROOKERY  71 

tripod,  which  now  served  me  admirably,  as  rigidity  of  the 
apparatus  is  the  prime  essential  in  telephoto  work. 

All  the  nests  of  these  water-birds  are  mere  platforms  of 
sticks  in  a  crotch,  usually  unlined  with  any  soft  material. 
The  ibises,  however,  line  their  nests  with  green  mangrove 
leaves,  but,  despite  this,  their  nests  are  the  flimsiest  of  them 
all.  Just  a  few  sticks  are  laid  across  one  another  in  the 
crotch,  some  leaves  are  placed  upon  them,  and  the  two  or 
three  greenish  eggs,  beautifully  mottled  with  brown,  are  then 


TELEPHOTO    PICTURE   OF  AN   IBIS   AND   A   LOUISIANA   HERON 


72  WILD   WINGS 

deposited.  All  the  eggs  of  the  ibises  seemed  to  be  fresh, 
and  many  of  the  sets  yet  incomplete.  In  view  of  finding,  in 
the  other  ibis  rookery  visited,  the  young  already  well  grown, 

I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
these  ibises  may  have  re- 
cently come  to  this  island 
from  some  other  rookery, 
that  had  been  broken  up, 
and  were  trying  to  raise 
belated  broods. 

While  I  was  among  the 
ibis  nests,  a  harsh  series  of 

YOUNG   FLORIDA   CORMORANTS.  Tattling    gTUUtS    aTTCStcd    Hiy 

attention,    whose    author   I 

found  to  be  an  American  Egret,  that  flew  back  and  forth 
over  me,  and  then  alighted  in  a  tree-top  to  watch.  It  was 
a  most  beautiful  sight,  the  tall,  slender  white  bird,  with  long, 
graceful  neck,  and  a  back  covered  with  the  elegant "  aigrette  " 
plumes  that  drooped  down  over  the  wings  —  the  prize  of 
the  merciless  plume-hunter.  Here  was  the  nest,  about  fifteen 
feet  up  a  mangrove.  In  it  were  three  little  egrets,  rather 
ragged  and  uncouth  in  their  incipient  white  plumage,  yet 
quaint  and  interesting.  Not  far  away  were  several  other 
nests  of  this  species,  all  containing  two  or  three  young. 
Two  weeks  before,  the  rest  of  my  party  had  found  a  few 
nests  with  eggs,  but  now  all  were  hatched.  One  family  of 
three  young  were  large  enough  to  fly  a  little,  and  could  just 
flutter  from  tree  to  tree,  out  of  my  reach.  Another  brood  of 
two  were  at  the  climbing  stage,  but  I  drove  them  back  to 
the  nest,  and  managed  to  photograph  them  with  the  reflex 
camera  in  the  open  sunlight  that  bathed  the  tops  of  the 
mangroves.  The  eggs  of  the  egret  are  light  greenish  blue, 
like  most  herons'  eggs. 


THE  GREAT  CUTHBERT  ROOKERY 


73 


LOUISIANA    HERONS.    "YOUNG    IN    THEIR    RUDE    HOME" 

Out  near  the  edge,  on  the  very  tops  of  the  trees,  were  the 
nests  of  the  Florida  Cormorants,  rather  more  compact  than 
most  of  those  of  the  other  birds,  but  especially  dirty.  Some 
of  them  held  from  two  to  four  dirty-white  eggs,  but  in  the 
majority  there  were  small,  naked,  black  young,  repulsive  in 
appearance.  They  lay  squirming  in  the  nests  unable  to  stand 
or  sit  up,  and  suggested  reptiles  rather  than  birds.  In  only 
one  nest  were  there  young  large  enough  for  successful  photo- 


74  WILD   WINGS 

graphs,  and  this  nest  was  very  inconveniently  situated.  The 
only  way  I  could  manage  was  to  balance  myself  on  the  slen- 
der branch  close  beside  it,  and  take  snap-shots,  there  being 
no  possible  place  to  attach  a  camera.  Around  me  in  the  tree- 
tops  were  several  other  nests  with  tiny  young.  Noticing  that 
one  brood  were  beginning  to  succumb  under  the  sun's  rays, 
I  covered  those  near  me  with  leaves  till  I  had  taken  the  de- 
sired pictures.  The  mother  cormorants  were  quite  solicitous, 
alighting  quite  near  me  on  the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  I  secured 
some  pictures  of  them. 

Everywhere  I  went  there  were  varying  numbers  of  the  nests 
of  the  Louisiana  Heron  scattered  about.  Some  of  these  con- 
tained eggs,  curiously  in  this  rookery  almost  always  three, 
whereas  the  year  before  in  central  Florida  I  invariably  found 
four  or  five  to  a  nest.  Whenever  the  young  herons  were 
large  enough  to  stand  up,  they  would  usually  scramble  out 
of  the  nest  when  I  tried  to  photograph  them.  It  was  only  with 
much  difficulty  that  I  finally  succeeded  in  securing  a  picture 
of  a  whole  family  of  young  in  their  rude  home.  I  also  caught 
a  well-grown  youngster,  and  placed  him  upon  a  horizontal 
trunk,  the  guide  thwarting  his  determination  to  escape  until 
I  had  taken  his  portrait  several  times. 

I  also  inspected  the  comparatively  small  colony  of  the 
Little  Blue  Heron  along  the  eastern  shore  of  the  island,  where 
they  nested  in  the  mangroves  out  over  the  water.  Four  blue 
eggs  was  the  usual  complement  of  their  nests,  or  varying 
numbers  of  young.  At  first  the  young  of  this  species  are  pure 
white ;  then  slaty-blue  feathers  crop  out ;  but  it  is  not  until 
their  third  summer  is  near  that  they  don  their  complete 
dark  bluish  uniform.  One  poor  little  white  fellow  had  fallen 
into  the  water,  and  was  nearly  chilled  and  exhausted  when 
I  found  him.  I  put  him  back  into  his  nest  out  at  the  end  of 
the  branches,  and  set  one  of  his  dry  and  contented  brothers 


THE  GREAT  CUTHBERT  ROOKERY     75 

upon  a  firmer  branch,  where  he  stood  very  sweetly  for  his 
picture.  I  also  secured  pictures  of  the  adults  in  flight  or 
upon  the  trees,  from  the  boat. 

Upon  their  previous  visit  here,  my  friends  had  seen  twelve 
of  the  elegant  Roseate  Spoonbills  flying  about,  and  had 
examined  a  few  nests,  containing  either  three  large  eggs 
beautifully  blotched  with  lilac,  or  the  downy  young  of  very 


YOUNG  LITTLE  BLUE  HERON.  "STOOD  VERY  SWEETLY  FOR 
HIS  PICTURE" 

tender  age.  Now  they  were  all  gone,  their  nests  being 
plundered  by  crows  or  buzzards.  The  only  trace  of  them 
I  found  was  a  single  spoonbill's  egg  in  an  ibis's  nest,  with 
two  eggs  of  the  ibis. 

The  Fish  Crow  and  the  Turkey  Buzzard  represent  the  pre- 
datory forces  which  are  allied  with  man  in  waging  war  upon 


76  WILD  WINGS 

these  colonies  of  helpless  water-birds.  Though  I  did  not  actu- 
ally see  the  buzzards  looting  the  nests,  I  am  sure  that  these 
solemn-looking,  red-faced  fellows  do  not  hang  around  the 
rookery  for  any  benevolent  purpose.  Yet  their  ravages  are 
not  as  open  and  unblushing  as  those  of  their  smaller  com- 
panions. The  Fish  Crows  are  nothing  if  not  audacious 
thieves.  A  band  of  them  was  always  prowling  about  our 
camp  to  appropriate  whatever  they  could.  When  we  pulled 
across  to  the  rookery  in  the  morning,  they  would  descend 
and  eat  up  all  leavings,  and  then,  by  the  time  we  were  reach- 
ing the  island,  the  black  band  would  come  straggling  after 
us,  following  up  closely  as  we  landed.  It  was  inevitable  that 
some  of  the  birds  would  be  startled  from  their  eggs,  and 
this  gave  the  rascals  their  opportunity.  The  audacity  with 
which  one  would  alight  over  our  heads  in  the  nest  of  a  heron 
or  ibis  and  proceed  to  break  and  suck  the  eggs  was  simply 
maddening,  as  there  was  no  way  to  prevent  it.  Now  and 
then  we  would  see  one  fly  off  with  an  egg  impaled  on  its  bill. 
The  warden  thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  him  to 
carry  a  small  plume-hunter's  rifle  on  purpose  to  kill  crows 
and  stop  their  ravages. 

When  I  was  photographing  the  young  cormorants,  one  of 
these  Fish  Crows  kept  hovering  close  around  me,  with  an 
evident  desire  to  get  at  the  young.  I  had  no  lead  with  which 
to  perforate  his  hide,  but  I  shot  him  with  a  photographic 
plate  and  got  his  likeness,  perfect  to  his  very  claws. 

One  of  the  minor,  yet  very  interesting  exhibits  in  this  re- 
markable aviary  of  Nature  was  a  party  of  six  of  the  rare  and 
little-known  Everglade  Kite,  probably  a  family  group,  which 
I  saw  one  evening  soaring  over  the  island.  Very  few  natural- 
ists have  ever  seen  this  bird.  It  quite  closely  resembles  the 
Marsh  Hawk  in  form  and  general  habits,  and,  like  the  young 
of  that  species,  is  dark  in  coloration.  The  southern  edge  of 


THE   GREAT   CUTHBERT   ROOKERY 


77 


! 


CORMORANTS,   IBISES,   AND   A    HERON.    "  FLUTTERING   FROM   THE    LOW   MANGROVES  " 

the  great  open,  grassy  quagmires  of  the  Everglades  is  only 
a  few  miles  from  this  spot.  These  marshes  are  the  main  re- 
sort of  this  bird,  which  is  often  called  "  Snail  Hawk,"  because 
it  is  said  to  feed  almost  exclusively  on  an  abounding  species 
of  fresh-water  snail,  extracting  the  creature  from  its  shell  by 
means  of  the  hooked  bill.  There  were  plenty  of  these  empty 
snail-shells  about,  upon  which,  very  probably,  these  kites 
had  been  feeding.  As  they  soared,  —  the  whole  six  quite  close 
together  and  rather  low  over  the  island,  —  though  the  sun 
had  gone  down,  I  secured  some  tolerable  snap-shot  silhouette 
pictures  of  the  interesting  party. 

The  only  other  feathered  visitors  to  the  rookery  which 
we  noticed  were  a  few  straggling  Wood  Ibises  and  Ward's 
Herons.  But  there  were  some  gentry  with  leathery  hides 
which  were  too  interesting  to  be  neglected.  The  lake  was 
a  great  place  for  alligators,  and  we  often  saw  them  floating 
on  the  shallow,  muddy  water,  quite  near  the  shores  of  the 


78  WILD   WINGS 

rookery,  upon  which,  doubtless,  they  often  crawled  out.  One 
of  them  furnished  us  not  a  little  amusement.  There  was  a  flock 
of  six  American  Coots,  or  Mud-Hens,  feeding  a  little  way  out 
in  the  lake,  near  to  where  we  had  retreated  in  the  boat  from 
the  mosquitoes  to  eat  our  dinner.  The  wily  old  fellow  had 
evidently  seen  the  coots,  for  he  kept  diving  and  emerging 
nearer  and  nearer  to  them.  The  water  was  too  shallow 
for  him  to  catch  them  from  beneath,  so  when  he  had  come 
reasonably  near,  in  line  with  the  course  they  were  swimming, 
he  lay  perfectly  still  upon  the  surface,  looking  like  an  old 
root  or  snag.  Unwittingly  the  coots  fed  along  till  they  were 
perhaps  within  ten  yards.  Then  they  noticed  the  'gator,  but 
apparently  were  not  sure  what  it  was.  Ceasing  to  feed,  they 
swam  close  together,  and  really  appeared  to  be  holding  con- 
sultation, in  some  way.  Finally  one  of  them  started  off,  the 
rest  looking  on,  and  swam  up  within  a  few  feet  of  the  object. 
There  it  stopped  and  studied  it,  turning  its  head  from  side 
to  side,  to  see  it  out  of  either  eye.  Finally  it  swam  back  to 
its  companions,  and  appeared  to  communicate  something,  for 
they  turned  and  swam  off  in  the  direction  from  which  they 
had  come.  The  guide  told  me  that  the  'gator's  way  would 
have  been,  had  they  come  within  range  of  his  weapon,  to 
swing  his  tail  around  with  a  great  slash  and  break  their 
necks. 

Naturally  we  made  some  attempt  to  form  an  estimate  of 
the  bird-population  of  this  great  rookery.  The  Louisiana 
Heron  was  the  most  abundant  species,  and  may  have  had 
from  fifteen  hundred  to  two  thousand  nests.  Next  would 
come  the  White  Ibises,  with  well  toward  one  thousand  pairs 
or  nests ;  then  Florida  Cormorants  with  about  two  hundred, 
Anhingas  and  Little  Blue  Herons  with  about  one  hundred 
each,  and  the  American  Egrets  with  only  about  twenty,  with 
half  a  dozen  pairs  of  Roseate  Spoonbills  when  the  other  party 


THE  GREAT  CUTHBERT  ROOKERY    81 

made  its  visit.  This  would  sum  up  about  three  thousand 
nests  or  six  thousand  birds. 

This  account  is  a  summary  of  my  observations  during 
the  time  of  our  stay,  from  Tuesday  to  Thursday  afternoons, 
May  12  to  14.  In  some  ways  it  was  the  most  enjoyable 
and  exciting  two  days  of  my  life,  even  though  I  had  not  yet 
got  back  to  full  physical  condition.  But  the  mosquitoes  in 
these  swamps  are  something  dreadful.  I  managed  to  endure 
their  unceasing  attacks  as  I  photographed,  but  I  found  that 
changing  sixty  plates,  of  two  sizes,  dusting  and  refilling  the 
holders,  out  in  the  open  swamp  in  the  dark,  was  an  ordeal 
in  which  I  almost  lost  my  nerve.  The  insects  were  so  numer- 
ous I  could  not  avoid  mashing  some  of  them  between  the 
films  in  packing  the  plates. 

We  spread  our  blankets  among  the  mangrove  roots  in  as 
dry  a  spot  as  we  could  find,  hung  our  nets  between  the  trees, 
and  camped  out  in  the  fullest  sense,  without  tent  or  other 
shelter.  When  we  came  in  from  the  rookery,  the  guide  built 
a  smudge  and  cooked  supper,  while  I  donned  a  screen-hat 
and  gloves  and  tried  to  get  a  few  moments'  peace.  After 
supper  it  soon  became  dark  enough  to  change  plates,  and 
later  I  joined  the  guide  under  the  net,  by  the  smudge,  and 
tried  to  sleep.  The  first  night  was  showery,  and  as  I  lay  there, 
many  a  mile  from  another  human  being,  half  sick  to  begin 
with,  feeling  the  rain  splashing  in  my  face,  listening  to  the 
roaring  hum  of  the  insect  scourge  around  the  net,  and  the 
occasional  scream  of  some  wild  animal,  perhaps  a  panther, 
off  in  the  swamp,  I  felt  —  as  my  guide  on  the  Western  prai- 
ries once  expressed  himself  under  similar  conditions  —  that  it 
would  not  take  much  more  to  make  one  homesick ! 

On  Thursday  morning  the  guide  awoke  ill  with  a  bilious 
attack.  So  I  finished  up  my  work  during  the  morning,  and 
after  dinner  started  back  for  camp.  Without  the  guide  I  am 


82  WILD  WINGS 

sure  I  could  never  have  found  my  way  out  of  that  swamp, 
even  after  being  conducted  in.  The  leads  off  into  the  jungle, 
and  from  lake  to  lake,  were  as  blind  as  though  no  human 
being  had  ever  traversed  them.  When  we  had  fought  our 
way  out  to  the  sea,  and  had  put  sail  on  our  boat,  I  was  thank- 
ful. There  was  a  head  wind,  and  I  beat  the  craft  homeward, 
while  the  guide  —  poor,  faithful  fellow  —  slept  off  his  headache 
and  nausea. 

It  was  one  A.  M.  before  our  journey  was  over,  and  tired 
enough  we  were.  None  but  thorough-going  enthusiasts 
should,  or  probably  would,  venture  upon  such  a  trip  as  that 
to  the  Cuthbert  Rookery.  It  was  about  the  most  arduous 
thing  I  have  ever  attempted,  but  I  would  not  have  missed 
it  for  a  good  deal.  Think  of  staying  on  a  two-acre  islet  in 
a  wilderness  lake  amid  six  thousand  splendid  breeding  birds  ! 
I  may  dream  of  it  with  exultation  when,  in  a  degenerate  day, 
the  Florida  rookeries  are,  like  the  buffalo  herds  and  the  Great 
Auk,  but  memories  of  the  past. 


ONE   OF   THESE    FISH    CROWS    KEPT    HOVER- 
ING  CLOSE   AROUND    ME  " 


SOOTY   TERNS.    "  THEY  SETTLE   DOWN    UPON   THE   SAND 


CHAPTER  V 


ON    LONELY    BIRD    KEY 

As  the  chain  grated  the  ear,  I  saw  a  cloud-like  mass  arise  over  the  "  Bird .  Key" 
from  which  we  were  only  a  few  hundred  yards  distance.  .  .  .  On  landing,  I  felt  for 
a  moment  as  if  the  birds  would  raise  me  from  the  ground.  —  AuDUBoN. 

OUTSIDE  of  Alaska,  it  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more 
desolate  or  isolated  region  in  our  national  domain 
than  the  Dry  Tortugas.  Far  out  in  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  sixty-five  miles  from  Key  West  toward  the  setting 
sun,  rise  half  a  dozen  barren  sand-bars  from  the  exquisite 
turquoise-blue  waters  of  the  Gulf.  One  of  these,  Garden 
Key,  has  been  appropriated  for  a  government  fort  and  coal- 
ing-station, and  from  the  massive  walls  of  Fort  Jefferson  the 
exiled  marines  gaze  wistfully  across  the  sparkling  waters, 
white-capped  by  the  brisk  trade-wind,  toward  their  Brooklyn 
Navy  Yard  Jerusalem,  and  count  up  the  remaining  months 


84  WILD  WINGS 

of  their  pilgrimage.  The  only  other  human  inhabitants  are 
the  family  who  tend  the  light  upon  Loggerhead  Key,  our 
last  outpost  toward  Cuba  and  Panama.  Other  islets  are 
untenanted,  save  when  the  great  sea-turtles  "crawl"  to  deposit 
their  numerous  eggs  in  the  sand,  on  moonlight  nights  of 
June  ;  one  alone  is  preempted  by  the  birds. 

On  the  eighteenth  of  May,  breaking  camp  and  beating 
back  the  angry  swarm  of  Cape  Sable  "  skeets,"  I  started  out 
across  Florida  Bay  in  the  little  mail  schooner,  sailed  by  a 
daring  "  Conch,"  or  Bahama  Islander.  With  a  driving  north- 
east wind,  directly  aft,  we  scoured  along  over  the  white- 
capped  expanse.  In  surprisingly  short  time  we  had  passed 
Sandy  Key,  of  Audubonian  fame,  and  sunk  the  Capes  of 
Florida.  From  time  to  time  inky  clouds  closed  in  around  us 
with  their  dark  pall,  amid  furious  bursts  of  rain  and  angry 
squalls  which  threatened  to  take  the  sticks  out  of  the  schooner 
and  sent  waves  a-chasing  us  in  a  manner  that  made  me  fear 
for  my  hard-earned  camera  trophies  of  the  wilderness.  By 
late  afternoon  we  had  crossed  Florida  Bay  and  were  making 
a  splendid  run  through  the  mazes  of  the  outer  keys,  man- 
grove-clad, that  rose  like  dark  forts  on  all  sides  of  us.  Then 
it  became  pitch  dark,  and  I  was  amazed  at  the  way  in  which 
the  genial  old  "  Conch  "  rammed  his  craft  through  all  sorts 
of  intricate  channels,  hitting  bottom  now  and  then,  yet  some- 
how getting  through,  until,  when  within  five  miles  of  Key 
West,  at  nine  o'clock,  we  plunged  on  to  a  shoal  between  two 
keys,  and  stuck  hard  and  fast.  I  passed  a  rather  chilly  night, 
in  mackintosh  and  rubber  boots  —  head  under  the  cuddy  and 
legs  out  in  the  wet.  Early  in  the  morning  the  rising  tide 
cleared  us,  and  by  six  A.  M.  we  were  at  the  wharf  in  Key 
West,  just  in  time  to  meet  one  of  my  former  guides,  Mr. 
Burton,  and  secure  passage  upon  the  government  tug  which 
was  about  to  start  for  the  station  at  the  Dry  Tortugas.  The 


ON    LONELY   BIRD   KEY 


guide  had  received  an  appointment  as  game-warden,  to 
camp  alone  on  Bird  Key  and  protect  the  feathered  multi- 
tudes through  their  nesting-season,  now  beginning. 

It  was  an  elegant  bright  day,  with  the  usual  fresh  north- 
east trade-wind.  We  reached  the  fort  early  in  the  afternoon, 
whence,  through  the  kindness  of  the  keeper  of  the  light- 


SOOTY  TERNS.    "  ALONE  AMONG   THE   BIRDS 


house  on  Loggerhead  Key,  we  secured  passage  to  Bird  Key, 
only  a  mile  away,  in  a  small  sail-boat,  with  our  skiff  in  tow. 
He  left  us,  bag  and  baggage,  upon  a  dilapidated  little  pier, 
alone  among  the  birds.  As  we  had  approached  the  islet, 
the  chorus  of  shrill  cries  had  grown  louder  and  louder,  and 
the  fluttering  of  wings  more  and  more  apparent.  Now  birds 
were  rising  into  the  air  in  countless  swarms,  with  outcries 
that  were  almost  overpowering  in  their  shrillness  and  volume. 
We  had  fairly  to  shriek  at  one  another  to  be  heard  at  all.  It 
was  Tuesday,  and  until  the  next  trip  of  the  tug,  on  Saturday 


86  WILD  WINGS 

morning,  I  was  to  enjoy  and  make  the  most  of  this  remark- 
able spot. 

The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  get  settled  in  our  strange 
quarters,  which  were  in  rather  uncanny  surroundings.  Bird 
Key  has  something  of  a  history.  Many  years  ago  Audubon 
landed  here  and  studied  the  great  bird  colony.  During  our 
Civil  War  the  key  was  used  as  a  Confederate  prison-camp. 
It  is  perhaps  an  eighth  of  a  mile  long  and  about  a  hundred 
yards  wide,  a  mere  sand-bar,  pretty  well  overgrown  with  bay 
cedar  bushes  from  three  to  six  feet  high.  There  are  also 
a  few  small  cocoanut  palms,  some  patches  of  Bermuda  grass, 
and  a  species  of  cactus.  Better  than  Key  West  does  this 
island  deserve  that  name,  —  a  corruption  from  the  Spanish, 
meaning  Bone  Key,  —  for  it  is  a  veritable  graveyard,  not 
only  of  soldiers,  but  of  victims  of  the  "  Yellow  Jack."  The 
key  was  used  for  a  yellow  fever  quarantine  station  during 
the  period  of  the  epidemic  of  1899,  the  visible  remains  of 
which,  beside  the  graves  with  their  rude  slabs,  are  several 
untenanted  buildings,  in  which  sulphur  and  carbolic  acid 
are  greatly  in  evidence. 

Bestowing  our  goods  in  an  outer  entry,  utilizing  a  rusty 
stove  in  the  cook-house,  sleeping  on  a  piazza,  being  careful 
to  boil  the  water  we  used  from  the  neglected  cistern,  we 
made  ourselves  comfortable,  and  found  constant  opportunity 
for  bird-study  by  day  and  by  night,  -Even  from  the  windows 
and  piazzas  of  the  buildings  we  could  watch  the  birds  sitting 
on  their  nests  or  flying  to  and  fro,  and  in  every  waking  mo- 
ment listen  to  their  cries. 

Under  three  species  of  birds  are  included  all  the  regular 
inhabitants  of  Bird  Key ;  in  fact  two  kinds  will  embrace  all 
but  about  two  dozen  individuals.  These  abounding  sorts 
are  the  Noddy  and  the  Sooty  Tern,  both  being  birds  of  the 
tropics,  which  are  found  nesting  only  at  this  one  spot  in  all 


ON    LONELY   BIRD   KEY  87 

the  United  States.  Each  is  about  the  size  of  a  pigeon,  slender 
and  graceful,  with  rather  long,  pointed  wings.  The  Sooty 
Tern  is  deep  black  in  its  upper  plumage  and  snow-white 
below,  while  the  Noddy  is  dark  brownish  gray  all  over,  save 
for  a  whitish  cap  on  its  head.  The  Noddy  reminds  me  of 
photographic  negatives  of  our  common  terns  of  the  North, 
which  are  of  the  reverse  shades  of  color,  so  that  I  had  the 
constant  feeling  of  being  in  a  strange  part  of  the  world  where 
the  accustomed  order  was  upset,  as  though  antipodal  China- 
men were  walking  on  their  heads,  and  white  were  here  black. 
The  Sooty  Terns  form  the  great  majority  of  the  population 
of  Bird  Key.  There  are  such  clouds  of  them  that  accurately 
to  estimate  their  numbers  was  impossible,  but  my  guess  of 
six  or  eight  thousand  I  think  cannot  be  far  out  of  the  way. 
Of  the  Noddies  there  are  hardly  a  thousand,  which  is  a 


THE    NESTING    NODDY.    "A   CASE   OF    LOVE   AT   FIRST   SIGHT 


88  WILD  WINGS 

great  decrease  from  the  numbers  that  were  once  here.  These 
two  species  alone  breed  on  the  island.  Its  only  other  fre- 
quenters are  about  two  dozen  great  Man-o'-War  Birds,  which 
loaf  about,  sunning  themselves,  upon  a  certain  tract  of 
bushes,  the  wharf,  or  the  beacon,  when  they  are  not  floating 
serenely  in  the  air  or  pursuing  and  robbing  the  terns  as  they 
come  in  with  the  food  secured  in  their  trips  out  to  sea  each 
morning  and  afternoon. 

Though  the  climate  is  warm  throughout  the  year,  it  is  not 
before  early  May  that  the  feathered  hosts  arrive  from  the 
south  at  this  sandy  rendezvous.  In  the  van  come  the  Nod- 
dies, only  a  few  at  first,  but  the  rest  within  a  few  days.  A 
week  later  the  Sooty  Terns  pour  in,  and  it  is  said  that  within 
a  week  of  their  arrival  both  kinds  begin  to  lay.  At  the  time 
of  our  coming,  nearly  all  the  birds  had  eggs  and  were  devot- 
ing themselves  to  their  family  cares. 

To  reach  the  buildings  from  the  little  landing-pier,  we  had 
to  pass  through  a  tract  of  bushes,  and  here  it  was  that  I  saw 
the  first  nests  of  the  Noddies.  Upon  the  tops  or  in  the  forks 
of  the  bushes  each  pair  had  built  a  rather  rude,  yet  fairly 
substantial  platform  of  sticks,  only  slightly  hollowed,  and 
upon  each  sat  a  dark  gray  bird.  There  was  something  about 
the  graceful  little  creatures  that  instantly  took  me  by  storm, 
—  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight.  The  Noddy  is  wonderfully  like 
a  dove,  in  size,  in  form,  in  the  softness  of  its  plumage,  the 
expression  in  its  large,  dark  eyes,  and  its  gentle,  confid- 
ing ways.  There  is  no  wild  affright  and  fluttering  as  the 
stranger  approaches.  Just  a  shadow  of  natural  modesty  is 
evident,  but  the  birds  sit  quietly,  hoping  and  trusting,  and  do 
not  fly  until  the  intruder  is  almost  within  arms'  reach.  Then 
they  flit  easily  away,  waiting  upon  a  neighboring  bush  until 
the  interloper  has  withdrawn,  when  they  return  directly  to 
their  charges. 


ON    LONELY   BIRD   KEY  91 

Here,  too,  at  the  outset,  we  began  to  see  the  manner  of  life 
of  the  Sooty  Tern.  Their  homes  are  never  on  the  bushes,  but 
on  the  ground,  either  under  shelter  of  the  foliage  or  out  in 
the  open  spots.  Home-making  is  reduced  to  the  lowest 
terms ;  merely  a  hollow  scratched  in  the  sand,  and  all  is 
ready.  It  seems  strange  that  both  these  species  lay  but  one 
egg.  If  robbed,  they  will  lay  again  and  again,  but  each  pair 
raises  only  a  single  chick  each  season.  This  is  one  of  the 


MAN-O'-WAR    BIRDS   AT    THEIR    ROOST 
(One  is  still  asleep) 

wonderful  adaptations  of  nature,  that  the  birds  which  have 
few  natural  enemies  should  have  small  families,  while  those 
much  persecuted  —  like  ducks  and  grouse  —  have  large 
broods.  The  eggs  of  both  these  terns  are  about  two  inches 
long,  of  a  buffy  white,  with  reddish  markings,  but  are  dis- 
tinguishable in  that  those  of  the  Noddy  are  less  marked, 
though  the  situation,  upon  ground  or  bush,  makes  the  matter 
certain.  Very  rarely  the  Sooty  Tern  has  two  eggs,  but  I  never 
found  more  than  one  in  the  possession  of  a  Noddy. 

I  soon  found  that,  for  breeding  purposes,  the  two  species 
had  apportioned  off  the  island  into  separate  communities. 


92  WILD  WINGS 

The  Sooties,  naturally,  occupied  the  greater  part  of  the  island, 
but  the  Noddies  had  a  separate  reservation  along  the  middle 
and  southern  part  of  the  west  shore,  from  which  one  gazes 
out  upon  Loggerhead  Light,  two  miles  away.  To  some  extent 
the  species  overlapped  on  their  southern  boundary,  and  the 
Sooties  were  free  to  fly  over  Noddy-land,  but  there  was  no 
interference  or  unfriendliness.  I  saw  no  fighting  between 
these  two,  though  the  Noddies  would  protest  a  bit  when  their 
natural  disturbers,  the  Man-o'-War  Birds,  desired  to  roost  too 
near  their  nests,  and  there  were  some  little  " scraps"  between 
some  of  a  kind,  especially  when  the  wrong  Noddy  alighted 
upon  the  wrong  nest. 

Living,  as  we  did,  right  among  the  birds,  the  opportunities 
were  splendid  for  observing  all  the  details  of  their  interesting 
little  lives.  Both  terns  were  continually  alighting  upon  the 
roofs  of  the  buildings,  especially  appropriating  the  ridge- 
poles, upon  which  there  were  nearly  always  lines  of  them, 
both  kinds  peacefully  intermingled.  I  watched  the  caressings 
of  the  mates,  their  pretty  home-life  on  and  about  the  nests, 
and  even  the  dropping  of  the  eggs.  I  was  so  busy  photo- 
graphing during  my  short  stay  that  I  could  not  take  time  to 
watch  protractedly  any  given  nests  and  learn  the  full  sequence 
of  events,  but  I  should  have  enjoyed  remaining  there  with 
the  warden  throughout  the  season,  watching  the  life  and  pro- 
gress of  the  colony. 

The  climate  of  these  sea-girt,  Southern  keys  is  not  uncom- 
fortably hot,  even  in  summer,  just  a  delightful,  equable  con- 
dition that  makes  living  and  sleeping  outdoors  a  constant 
delight.  The  rainy  season  was  approaching,  as  occasional 
sudden  showers  had  begun  to  show.  But  who  would  mind 
alternate  showers  and  sunshine  under  such  conditions  !  How 
a  congenial  company  of  lovers  of  nature  could  enjoy  them- 
selves upon  such  an  island,  studying  the  birds,  watching  at 


ON   LONELY   BIRD   KEY 


93 


night  for  the  "  crawling  "  of  the  great  turtles,  bathing  in  the 
limpid  waters  of  the  Gulf,  upon  the  warm  sandy  beach  gather- 
ing curious  sea-weeds,  bright  shells,  sponges,  and  corals, 
reading,  forsooth,  —  as  did  my  companion  aloud  to  me  from 


SOOTY    TERN    OVER    EGG 


the  poems  of  Longfellow,  as  we  sat  at  dusk  looking  out  upon 
the  sea  and  watched  the  Man-o'-War  Birds  soar  and  the  terns 
come  back  with  edible  tidings  from  afar,  —  and  at  night,  free 
from  insect  annoyance,  —  for  there  are  few  mosquitoes  on 
the  Dry  Tortugas,  —  be  lulled  to  slumber  on  the  open  porch 
by  the  weird  cries  of  the  birds !  This  is  living,  indeed  ! 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  Sooty  Terns,  this  lone  key  would 
have  been  a  quiet  spot.    The  great  Man-o'-War  Birds,  seem- 


94  WILD  WINGS 

ingly  adapted  by  nature  for  stentorian  vocal  efforts,  are  prac- 
tically mutes ;  the  Noddies,  also,  seem  to  have  no  note  other 
than  a  weak  little  croak.  But  the  Sooties  make  up  for  all 
other  lacks  with  their  clarion  calls.  Even  when  wholly  undis- 
turbed, their  natural  nervousness  makes  it  impossible  for 
them  to  be  quiet.  The  great  host  is  continually  engaged  in 
some  alarm.  By  thousands  they  settle  down  to  their  nests  or 
upon  the  sand.  Some  individual  quarrels  with  another,  and 
rises  with  an  angry  scream.  A  few  neighbors  do  the  same, 
and  then,  with  a  furious  uproar,  thousands  of  wings  are  flut- 
tering, and  thousands  of  voices  unite  in  a  tremendous  shout 
that  well-nigh  shakes  the  key  upon  its  coral  foundations.  The 
racket,  at  length,  seems  fairly  to  frighten  the  birds  them- 
selves, and  suddenly  every  voice  is  hushed  in  an  absolute 
stillness  which  seems  for  an  instant  even  more  startling  and 
appalling  than  the  previous  din.  But  this  is  only  for  an 
instant ;  again  the  hubbub  breaks  forth,  if  possible  with 
redoubled  power.  All  day  long  this  goes  on,  and  the  visitor 
becomes  accustomed  to  it,  though  he  feels  that  he  is  becom- 
ing deaf,  losing  the  power  to  distinguish  minor  sounds. 

At  dusk  there  is  a  general  let-up,  and  most  of  the  birds 
settle  down  to  rest.  Yet  there  are  always  some  a-wing,  and 
hardly  a  moment  will  pass  without  some  sort  of  a  cry.  But 
now  it  is  only  an  individual  voice  that  is  heard,  instead  of 
a  vast  chorus.  As  we  lie  under  our  blankets  on  the  piazza, 
watching  the  twinkling  of  the  Loggerhead  Light,  the  dim 
form  of  a  Sooty  suddenly  dashes  past  the  gable,  and  with 
a  resounding  scream  it  is  gone,  like  a  waning  meteorite,  per- 
haps to  be  followed  by  a  Noddy,  with  its  comical  little  squeak 
of  a  voice.  But  soon  no  sounds  can  longer  keep  us  awake. 
At  daybreak  the  clamor  begins,  and  we,  too,  are  astir.  The 
skilful  guide  soon  prepares  a  steaming  and  bountiful  repast, 
and  again  I  am  out  with  the  camera  among  the  birds. 


ON    LONELY   BIRD    KEY  95 

The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  photograph  the  Man-o'-War 
Birds.  They  have  been  sleeping  on  some  clumps  of  bushes, 
in  pretty  close  company  with  us.  We  do  not  see  them  go  to 
bed,  for  at  dark  they  are  still  soaring ;  but  in  the  morning  we 
find  them  quietly  roosting,  some  of  them  not  more  than 
thirty  or  forty  feet  from  our  couches.  They  are  late  risers, 


THE    LITTLE    PIER.    "THE    NODDIES    AND    MAN-O'-WAR    BIRDS    LOVE    TO    ROOST   ON    IT" 

and  sit  there  sleepily  till  some  time  after  sunrise.  So  I  quietly 
set  up  the  camera  upon  the  tripod,  with  the  telephoto  attach- 
ment, and  get  what  views  I  wish,  without  alarming  them, 
right  from  my  very  bed  ! 

Now  we  will  stroll  to  the  northern  end  of  the  island,  look- 
ing toward  the  fort,  where  the  Sooties  are  very  numerous. 
They  are  nesting  all  over  the  dry  sand  above  the  beach,  and 
everywhere  under  the  bushes  farther  back.  As  we  approach, 
they  rise  in  astonishing  numbers.  The  sun  is  yet  low  in  the 
east  and  lights  up  their  white  under  parts  as  they  rise,  so  that 


96  WILD  WINGS 

it  is  a  good  time  for  snap-shots  of  birds  a-wing,  giving  about 
one  five-hundredth  of  a  second  with  the  reflex  camera.  The 
negatives  secured  are  likely  to  be  full  of  birds,  if  we  aim 
anywhere  except  down  by  our  feet !  Still  the  birds'  are  rising 
from  beneath  the  bushes.  Some  of  them  are  in  such  a  hurry 
that  they  get  tangled  up  in  the  branches,  and  we  take  one 
or  two  of  them  in  hand,  stroking  them  and  then  letting  the 
frightened  creatures  fly  away. 

Eggs  are  lying  everywhere,  in  any  sort  of  a  situation. 
Some  of  the  Sooties,  in  fact,  even  lay  on  the  plank  walk  that 
runs  eastward  from  the  house.  So,  careful  not  to  trample 
upon  their  treasures,  we  stroll  off  through  openings  into  the 
midst  of  the  bushy  tract.  Some  of  the  Sooties  have  flown ; 
others,  surprised  upon  their  nests,  refuse  to  turn  tail  to  the 
invader,  and  bristle  up  with  a  showing  of  courage,  almost 
allowing  themselves  to  be  handled.  We  can  easily  take  snap- 
shots of  them,  but  I  prefer  to  set  up  my  small  camera  upon 
the  tripod,  using  a  single,  long-focus  lens  of  my  double 
anastigmat,  and,  with  a  brief  time  exposure,  secure  a  fully 
exposed,  soft,  detailed  picture,  even  the  veinings  of  the  feath- 
ers showing. 

Out  on  the  open  sand  again,  we  sit  down.  In  a  moment 
or  two  the  confiding,  though  nervous,  little  Sooties,  whose 
eggs  are  all  around  us,  begin  to  alight,  first  at  some  distance, 
but  soon  within  three  or  four  yards.  When  there  is  quite 
a  mass  of  them,  the  focal-plane  shutter  drops  with  a  bang, 
and  up  they  go,  to  return  in  a  moment,  and  quietly  steal  to 
their  nests  in  plain  sight  or  under  the  bushes. 

Now  we  will  take  a  look  at  the  little  pier.  The  Noddies 
and  the  Man-o'-War  Birds  love  to  roost  on  it  in  the  morning 
sun,  though,  somehow,  the  Sooties  seem  not  to  relish  the 
company,  or  else  their  tastes  are  different.  There  they  sit,  as 
usual,  perhaps  twenty  Noddies  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  great 


ON   LONELY   BIRD   KEY 


97 


hooked-billed,  long- winged  pirates.  Though  at  times  un- 
friendly, the  similarity  of  their  dark  plumages  —  perhaps 
—  gives  them  now  a  sense  of  having  some  things,  after  all, 
in  common,  and  they  sit  together  as  though  ever  the  best 
of  friends.  The  big  fellows  are  not  over-tame,  so  from  the 


NODDIES.    "THE   MALE   STANDS    BESIDE    HIS   MATE   AS   SHE    BROODS" 

nearest  bushes,  fifteen  yards  away,  we  use  the  telephoto  lens. 
Then,  upon  my  knees,  head  covered  with  the  focus-cloth, 
looking  intently  into  the  hood  of  the  reflex  camera  and 
watching  the  image  of  the  birds  on  the  ground  glass,  keeping 
good  focus  upon  them  as  I  advance,  I  creep  nearer  and  nearer. 
The  movement  is  so  gradual,  and  the  object  so  nondescript, 
that  they  are  not  alarmed.  At  length  I  am  very  near,  and 


98  WILD  WINGS 

make  an  exposure.  Probably  the  noisy  Sooties  have  already 
deafened  them,  for  they  do  not  seem  to  hear.  Changing 
plates,  I  again  advance.  When  I  am  almost  at  the  wharf, 
they  start  to  fly,  and  just  as  part  of  them  have  launched  out, 
I  snap  once  more,  and  get  an  interesting  picture  —  as  it  turns 
out.  This  can  be  done  again  and  again. 

From  here  it  is  but  a  few  steps  to  the  main  resort  of  the 
breeding  Noddies.  Most  of  their  nests  are  upon  the  bushes 
just  above  the  beach,  or  on  bunches  of  cactus.  Some  of  them 
fly  as  we  approach,  but  soon  settle  down  again.  Their  quiet- 
ness is  in  strange  contrast  with  the  conduct  and  disposition 
of  the  Sooties.  In  photography,  now,  we  may  do  practically 
anything  we  wish.  Here  is  a  nest  where  the  male  stands 
beside  his  mate  as  she  broods.  Possibly  he  may  fly  up,  as  we 
focus  about  a  yard  away ;  but  ere  we  are  ready,  he  will  be 
back,  and  the  picture  of  the  pretty  pair  is  easily  secured. 
Meanwhile,  as  we  work,  our  coat  brushes  against  another 
nest,  with  a  sitting  hen  Noddy  upon  it.  She  does  not  fly,  but 
bristles  out  her  feathers,  croaking  her  feeble  remonstrance. 
I  stroke  her  on  the  back,  and  as  soon  as  she  feels  the  touch, 
she  is  gone.  But  when  the  egg  is  nearly  hatched,  we  could 
lift  her  off,  and,  replacing  her,  she  would  continue  brooding 
without  alarm,  I  am  told,  so  overpowering  is  Noddy's  mater- 
nal passion.  From  this  trait  the  great  naturalist,  Linnaeus, 
who  named  the  species,  called  the  Noddy  Anous  stolidus. 
Stupid  fool,  it  means  ;  but  I  resent  having  any  such  scur- 
rilous epithet  applied  to  my  pet.  Will  not  the  authorities 
kindly  change  the  name  ? 

So  we  might  go  on,  as  long  as  we  wish,  photographing 
Noddies  —  on  the  egg,  beside  the  egg,  tail  cocked  prettily 
aloft,  mates  caressing,  looking  down  or  up,  the  croaking, 
scolding  posture,  when  Noddy  strikes  the  attitude  of  the  caw- 
ing crow  (pretty  little  sea-crow),  beside  many  other  poses. 


ON    LONELY   BIRD    KEY 


99 


Really,  it  is  hard  to  tell  when  to  stop  this  photography !  I 
am  sure  if  I  were  to  remain  on  Bird  Key  the  livelong  season, 
I  should  find  something  new  to  photograph  every  day,  as 
long  as  the  plates  lasted.  During  my  four  days'  stay  I  man- 
aged to  keep  my  enthusiasm  under  some  sort  of  control,  and 
only  exposed  156  plates  ! 

Thus  the  days  all  too  quickly  passed,  and  when,  before 
sunrise  on  Saturday  morning,  my  friend  the  guide  rowed  me 
across  to  the  fort  to  take  the  steamer  and  start  on  my  long 
trip  back  to  Connecticut,  I  felt  that  I  was  leaving  a  land 
of  sunshine  and  exhilarating  delights  when,  from  the  deck  of 
the  steamer,  I  saw  fade  in  the  distance  the  sands  and  bushes 
of  lonely  Bird  Key. 


SOOTY   TERN.    "WITH    RATHER    LONG,    POINTED   WINGS  " 


Part  II 


From  cold  Norse  caves  or  buccaneer  southern  seas 
Oft  come  repenting  tempests  here  to  die. 

LANIER. 


BLACK  VULTURES.     "THEY    SIT   IN    ROWS   UPON    THE   ADJOINING    HOUSES" 


CHAPTER   VI 


SCAVENGERS    OF    THE    SOUTH 


Circles  and  sails  aloft,  on  pinions  majestic,  the  vtilture. 

LONGFELLOW. 

WARM  was  the  Florida  sunshine  and  the  soft  cypress- 
scented  breeze  that  clear  April  morning  over  the 
great  Jane  Green  Swamp.  On  the  lonely  prairie 
beyond  its  confines  herds  of  half-wild  cattle  grazed  serenely. 
Out  on  the  islets  of  the  immense  adjoining  marsh  that  formed 
the  head  waters  of  the  St.  John's  River  the  Ward's  Herons 
and  several  others  of  this  tribe  had  built  their  rude  stick  nests 
in  the  willows,  or  were  laying  their  bluish-green  eggs;  while 
the  Snake-birds,  with  their  peculiar  long  necks  and  rudder 
tails,  perched  lazily  upon  their  roosts  over  the  water,  ready 
for  a  plunge  after  the  first  venturesome  fish  that  might  rise 


104  WILD   WINGS 

from  the  slimy  depths  under  the  "  bonnets  "  or  the  floating 
fields  of  water-lettuce.  In  the  swamp  itself,  that  stretched 
away  for  forty  miles,  —  a  wonderful  area  of  immense  cypresses, 
live-oaks,  and  other  Southern  trees,  with  stately  palmettos  to 
guard  its  portals,  —  the  Barred  Owls  were  quiet  in  the  shade 
of  foliage  and  streaming  Spanish  moss,  but  the  tall,  stately 
Wood  Ibises  —  great  birds,  almost  "  man  grown  "  in  stature 
—  were  nesting  out  on  the  spreading  boughs  of  the  cypresses, 
a  hundred,  yes,  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  from  the 
ground,  where  no  enemy,  without  wings,  could  harm  them. 

On  the  edge  of  this  great,  lonely,  shadowy  swamp  was 
an  open  slough  or  marsh,  now  nearly  dried  up  by  the  spring 
sunshine.  To  the  last  and  deepest  pool  had  resorted  many 
a  small  fish,  in  vain  search  for  moisture  for  its  parching  gills. 
But  even  that  had  become  quite  dry  ;  the  fish  lay  dead  in 
heaps,  and  a  flock  of  about  a  dozen  Turkey  Buzzards,  gather- 
ing there,  had  gorged  themselves  to  repletion.  Sluggishly 
they  stood  on  the  moist  ground,  with  drooping  heads  and 
wings,  revelling  in  their  satiety  and  in  the  warm  sunshine. 
Little  note  did  they  take  of  passing  time,  until  suddenly  four 
men  came  right  upon  them  and  forced  them  into  unwilling 
flight. 

It  was  our  party,  who  had  spent  most  of  the  day  exploring 
the  great  cypress  swamp  with  two  special  plans  in  mind. 
One  was  to  see  a  nesting  colony  of  the  Wood  Ibises  in  the 
immense  cypresses,  which  the  guide  had  visited  in  previous 
seasons  ;  the  other  was  to  find  a  reputed  buzzard  rookery. 
Two  " crackers"  had  called  at  our  camp  on  the  way  to  the 
coast  to  sell  some  enormous  rattlesnake  skins,  and,  in  describ- 
ing the  region,  had  told  us  of  a  place  in  the  great  swamp, 
six  or  eight  miles  from  here,  which  was  a  remarkable  resort 
for  buzzards.  Occasionally,  in  hunting,  they  had  passed  it, 
and  had  seen  large  numbers  of  the  buzzards  sunning  them- 


SCAVENGERS  OF  THE  SOUTH 


105 


TURKEY    BUZZARD.    SUNNING   ITSELF 


selves  in  the  trees  and  on  the  ground.  The  whole  place  was 
filthy,  and  some  of  the  trees  had  died.  It  is  well  known  that 
buzzards  habitually  resort  to  certain  localities  as  roosting- 
places.  I  myself  had  seen  one,  on  a  small  scale,  in  the  timber 
along  the  Sheyenne  River,  in  North  Dakota,  and  one  of  my 
guides  knew  of  another  in  the  western  part  of  that  state. 
This  was  among  the  rocks  on  the  side  of  a  steep,  barren  hill, 
and  the  Turkey  Buzzards  not  only  resorted  there  to  roost, 
but  some  of  them  reared  their  young  under  the  rocks. 

I  should  very  much  have  liked  to  stumble  upon  this  roost  in 
Jane  Green  Swamp.  In  the  attempt  to  reach  it  we  had  poled 
and  dragged  a  boat  four  weary  miles  over  the  treacherous 
morass,  stepping  out  now  and  then  into  aquatic  vegetation 
which  abounded  in  deadly  moccasins,  one  of  which  would 
now  and  then  slip  out  fairly  from  under  our  feet.  Then  we 
had  to  walk  six  miles  across  the  prairie,  passing  occasional 


io6  WILD   WINGS 

bands  of  cattle.  Having  done  this,  we  were  on  the  edge  of 
the  swampy  forest,  with  its  giant  cypresses,  which,  rising 
boldly  from  the  prairie  level,  gave  the  effect  of  a  long  range 
of  hills,  stretching  away,  as  we  were  told,  some  forty  miles. 
The  men  had  described  the  location  of  the  roost,  but  we  were 
unable  to  reach  it.  It  was  several  miles  farther,  and  we  had 
all  we  could  do  in  a  day  to  investigate  the  Wood  and  White 
Ibises,  Barred  Owls,  Florida  Black  Ducks,  and  other  interest- 
ing birds. 

When  we  emerged,  at  length,  and  started  up  the  band  of 
gluttonous  buzzards,  we  watched  to  see  whether  they  would 
not  fly  toward  their  rookery.  All  they  did  was  to  extend 
their  great  ragged  pinions,  and,  after  the  first  few  flaps,  let 
the  ascending  current  of  heated  air  do  the  rest.  Lazily  they 
wheeled  high  overhead  on  motionless  wings,  waiting  for  us 
to  withdraw.  No  doubt  they  finally  went  back,  but  only  in 
their  own  good  time,  when  the  shadows  of  the  cypresses  had 
grown  long  and  sombre. 

It  was  quite  near  this  spot  that  we  came  upon  the  nest  of 
a  Wild  Turkey,  the  only  one  I  had  ever  seen.  Under  a  low 
scrub  palmetto,  on  the  edge  of  the  prairie  near  the  forest,  the 
bird  had  scratched  out  a  slight  hollow,  lined  it  with  grass,  and 
deposited  a  dozen  large  speckled  eggs.  These  had  hatched, 
and  the  shells,  neatly  cracked  in  halves,  some  of  the  pieces 
telescoped,  were  lying  there.  Eggs  are  just  the  sort  of  special 
treat  that  buzzards  enjoy.  Very  likely  Turkey  Buzzard  and 
turkey  had  matched  wits  and  patience,  but  the  owner  of  the 
nest  had  won,  so  the  scavengers  were  forced  to  attend  more 
strictly  to  business  and  search  out  death  among  the  cattle 
herds  or  the  bands  of  razor-backed  hogs  —  hateful,  grizzled 
monsters  that  were  ever  ready  for  intrusion. 

If  the  choice  must  be  between  buzzards  and  hogs  as  scav- 
engers, give  me  the  buzzard.  He  has  at  least  a  tithe  of 


SCAVENGERS  OF  THE  SOUTH  107 

respect  for  one's  feelings,  which  the  hog  has  not.  From  our 
camp  here  by  the  morass,  in  a  fine  grove  of  cabbage  palms, 
the  hogs  nearly  routed  us.  We  had  hard  work  to  keep  pro- 
visions for  ourselves,  and  as  for  the  horse  —  poor  beast! 


TURKEY  BUZZARD'S  PORTRAIT.  "NOT  ALTOGETHER  AS  PRETTY  AS  A  PICTURE" 

—  one  night  I  awoke  and  discovered  a  hog  right  beside  me, 
with  its  nose  in  the  only  bag  of  grain.  My  foot  shot  out,  and 
a  sudden  tropical  storm  instantly  almost  wrecked  the  tent ! 

One  evening,  weary  with  our  poling  about  in  the  morass, 
we  returned  to  camp.  A  member  of  the  party,  an  enthusias- 
tic collector,  had  that  morning  stuffed  a  fine  Florida  Barred 
Owl,  well  dosed  with  arsenic,  which  he  had  laid  away  —  ten- 
derly as  though  it  were  a  new  baby  —  in  a  box.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  look  on  his  face  as  he  came  striding  out  of  the  tent, 


io8  WILD   WINGS 

exclaiming,  "  Where 's  my  Barred  Owl ! "  All  we  could  find 
was  a  solitary  feather.  The  hogs  had  eaten  it,  arsenic  and 
all,  besides  a  Florida  Duck  and  more  or  less  of  our  pro- 
visions. My  friend  consoled  himself  that  there  would  be  at 
least  one  sick  hog  that  day.  Little  satisfaction  did  he  get ; 
if  the  beast  had  been  sick,  it  had  evidently  soon  recovered, 
for  the  usual  precious  band  of  nine  paid  us  a  visit  early  next 
morning,  hungry  as  ever,  and  eager  for  another  breakfast  on 
luscious  owl-skin  with  cotton  dressing  and  arsenical  sugar. 

The  men  who  told  us  of  the  buzzard-roost  wrongly  sup- 
posed that  the  birds  nested  in  the  trees,  like  the  ibises.  The 
two  handsomely  blotched  eggs  of  each  pair  are  laid  on  the 
ground,  in  such  places  as  hollow  logs  or  stumps,  caves  or 
thickets.  I  was  once  shown  an  old  circular  stone  slave-prison, 
in  South  Carolina,  where  a  Turkey  Buzzard  always  nested. 
Trees  and  shrubbery  had  grown  around  and  concealed  it, 
and  the  roof  had  fallen  in.  Climbing  in  through  a  window 
opening  and  scrambling  down,  I  found  plenty  of  buzzard 
feathers  and  dirt  in  the  thicket  of  weeds,  but  by  this  time  — 
May  —  the  young  scavengers  had  taken  to  wing  and  de- 
parted. In  another  place,  in  North  Carolina,  another  Turkey 
Buzzard  always  was  accustomed  to  nest  in  a  certain  old  hol- 
low stump,  near  a  farmhouse.  The  owner  of  the  land  allowed 
no  one  to  disturb  the  brooding  mother,  and  enjoyed  seeing 
her  bristle  up  and  strike,  and  hearing  her  hiss.  The  young 
are  interesting,  and  rather  pretty,  with  their  woolly  white 
suits.  Neither  old  nor  young  can  utter  any  sound  save  a  low 
guttural  murmur,  a  little  sort  of  gasp,  and  a  prolonged  hiss. 
This  muteness  of  the  stalwart  birds  may  not  be  inappropri- 
ate, for  it  is  their  lot  to  live  in  the  presence  of  death,  where 
it  is  fitting  to  keep  silence,  or  to  speak  in  whispers,  with  bated 
breath. 

When  I  first  journeyed  South,  I  confess  that  I  felt  consid- 


SCAVENGERS  OF  THE   SOUTH 


109 


erable  prejudice  against  the  buzzards,  of  whose  ways,  unclean 
from  our  human  standpoint,  I  had  read.  Yet  no  true  nature- 
lover  can  afford  to  despise  any  part  of  the  natural  economy, 
and  I  found  that  there  is  much  to  be  said  for  the  buzzards. 


TURKEY    BUZZARD.     "A    FINE   SUBJECT   TO    PHOTOGRAPH" 

Probably  most  birds  have  habits  which  would  not  bear  close 
inspection  by  the  squeamishly  inclined.  We  can  well  afford 
to  gloss  over  or  euphemize  some  things  in  nature  which 
strike  us  as  disagreeable,  realizing  that  the  natural  economy 
is  more  reasonable  and  normal  than  our  artificial  prejudices. 
The  person  who  shudders  at  every  wonderful  insect  and 
loathes  the  toad,  lizard,  and  harmless  snake,  and  screams  at 
a  bright-eyed  mouse,  is  profoundly  to  be  pitied.  The  natural 
world  to  such  will  be  a  sealed  book  and  an  array  of  horrors. 


no  WILD   WINGS 

Some  one  asked  me  if  I  love  all  birds.  Certainly  I  do,  from 
the  grebe  to  the  thrush,  hissing  young  woodpeckers,  thiev- 
ing crows,  naked,  skinny  young  cormorants  —  yes,  and  buz- 
zards. There  is  plenty  that  is  admirable  and  interesting  in 
them  all.  *7 

Every  one  who  visits  the  South  is  impressed  with  the  grace- 
ful flight  of  the  buzzards.  There  are  no  finer  flyers  among 
birds.  Mounted  aloft,  they  soar  and  float  so  easily  and  airily 
that  it  is  restful  to  watch  them.  There  is  no  symptom  of  our 
restless  spirit  of  rush.  Their  movements  blend  with  the  sur- 
roundings, a  sleepy  atmosphere,  an  ardent  sun.  Probably 
they  would  not  soar  by  the  hour  if  much  effort  were  involved. 
But  after  they  are  started,  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  keep 
the  great  wings  extended,  and  by  instinctive  balancing  direct 
the  way,  letting  the  air-currents  do  the  rest.  A  Southern 
landscape  without  buzzards  would  be  quite  incomplete. 

The  observer  should  learn  to  distinguish  between  the  two 
species  —  the  Turkey  Buzzard  or  Vulture,  and  the  Black 
Buzzard  or  Vulture,  the  latter  also  being  called  Carrion  Crow. 
The  former  is  the  more  common  and  more  widely  distributed. 
The  other  is  more  a  maritime  species,  though  it  also  fre- 
quents the  neighborhood  of  large  rivers,  notably  the  Missis- 
sippi. The  Turkey  Buzzard  is  also  the  more  graceful  flyer, 
and,  though  dark  of  plumage,  is  of  a  browner  cast  than  the 
others.  The  Black  Buzzard  is  a  heavier,  more  stocky  bird, 
and  has  to  flap  more  and  harder  to  keep  itself  afloat. 

Both  of  these  birds,  though  tame  enough  about  human 
habitation,  are  somewhat  shy  off  in  the  wilds.  So,  on  my  first 
real  acquaintance  with  them,  in  Florida,  I  was  rather  hard 
put  to  it  to  secure  good  photographs.  I  would  meet  them 
along  the  East  Coast  Railway,  perched  on  telegraph  poles, 
or  on  stubs  by  the  Indian  River,  and  generally  they  would 
fly  before  I  wanted  them  to.  Once  I  managed  to  rig  my 


SCAVENGERS  OF   THE   SOUTH  in 

telephoto  lens  and  focus  on  one  at  a  moderate  distance  on 
a  telegraph  pole.  Unfortunately  the  bird  decided  to  fly  just 
as  I  opened  the  lens  for  a  timed  exposure,  the  result  of  which 
was  a  streak  of  buzzard  clear  across  the  plate.  The  only  pos- 
sible chance  I  had,  that  first  season,  of  photographing  a  Black 


I  I  I 


BLACK   BUZZARD  ON   STREET   IN   CHARLESTON 

Buzzard  was  when  I  saw  one  sitting  quietly  on  a  palmetto 
stub,  gorged  after  a  banquet  on  the  remains  of  a  large  turtle 
which  some  negroes  had  killed  and  cut  up,  giving  a  number 
of  Turkey  Buzzards  and  a  black  fellow  or  two  a  fine  time. 
No  one  need  say  that  the  poor  buzzard  prefers  carrion,  if  he 
can  find  as  nice  fresh  meat  as  this.  Well,  I  was  sneaking 
up  to  the  buzzard,  and  was  almost  sure  of  a  snap-shot,  when 
a  companion  fired  his  gun  at  a  duck  which  passed  over  his 
head,  and  away  went  my  subject. 


ii2  WILD   WINGS 

The  Turkey  Buzzard  is  quite  widely  distributed.  I  have 
often  seen  it  away  up  in  North  Dakota,  and  now  and  then  it 
appears  in  Connecticut.  One  warm  August  day,  in  the  latter 
state,  I  drove  eight  miles  to  see  a  singular,  unknown  bird 
which  a  farmer  wrote  me  he  had  caught.  It  proved  to  be 
a  Turkey  Buzzard,  slightly  wounded,  which  had  now  fully 
recovered.  Taking  it  home  with  me  in  a  box,  I  kept  it  in 
my  stable.  It  fed  voraciously  on  livers  and  sounds,  drink- 
ing plenty  of  water,  and  made  a  fine  subject  to  photograph. 
But  I  could  never  teach  it  that  it  was  not  necessary  for  it 
to  offer  me  its  dinner  whenever  I  had  occasion  to  handle 
it.  One  very  singular  habit  it  had  was  to  fill  its  lungs  with 
air,  and  then  slowly  expel  it,  keeping  up  a  steady  hiss, 
like  escaping  steam,  for  about  ten  seconds.  Another  was  to 
stamp  its  foot  angrily  upon  the  floor  several  times  in  rapid 
succession. 

Passing  through  Southern  cities,  I  had  seen  from  the  car 
windows  flocks  of  buzzards  frequenting  dumping-grounds 
and  similar  places  in  the  environs.  And  when  I  had  occasion 
to  stay  for  several  days  in  one  of  them  —  Charleston  it  was  — 
I  had  the  chance  of  my  life  to  study  buzzards.  Fortunately, 
too,  it  was  mainly  the  Black  Buzzard,  the  kind  less  familiar 
to  me.  Right  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  the  great  black  fel- 
lows visit  the  market.  They  sit  in  rows  upon  the  adjoining 
houses,  or  upon  the  market  buildings  themselves.  Presently 
one  of  the  market-men,  after  serving  a  customer,  throws  the 
scraps  he  has  cut  off  into  the  paved  street.  Instantly  there  is 
the  greatest  imaginable  flapping  of  wings  and  such  a  scurry- 
ing. Great  birds  by  the  score  tumble  pell-mell  into  the  street, 
and  laying  hold  upon  the  choice  morsels,  a  number  at  a  time, 
tug  and  haul,  until  the  strongest  gets  the  prize.  Meanwhile 
we  stand  within  a  few  feet  and  laugh.  Then  they  linger 
around  and  wait  to  see  if  more  will  not  be  forthcoming,  or 


SCAVENGERS  OF  THE  SOUTH 


BLACK   VULTURES.    "  THE    FENCES   OF   THE   SLAUGHTER-PENS    WERE 
FAIRLY   BLACK    WITH    THEM" 

stalk  about  with  dignified  air  as  though  they  owned  every- 
thing and  were  indeed  Charleston's  leading  citizens. 

But  the  great  place  to  see  the  sport  is  at  the  city  dump  and 
slaughter-pens,  out  in  the  suburbs.  One  afternoon,  carrying 
a  big  reflex  camera,  and  with  a  young  lady  cousin,  I  took 
a  trolley,  and  told  the  conductor  to  let  us  off  at  the  city  dump. 
The  look  of  incredulity  and  scorn  in  the  man's  face  was 
something  that  nearly  convulsed  me  with  laughter.  He 
merely  gave  me  a  surly  grunt,  and  when  we  reached  what 
was  evidently  the  place,  made  no  motion  to  stop.  He  finally 
had  to,  and  we  got  out  with  great  deliberation  and  dignity, 
the  passengers  all  craning  their  necks  to  take  in  this  new 
wonder.  Perhaps  they  thought  I  was  a  Federal  inspector 
investigating  the  sanitation  of  their  city  —  or  an  escaped 
lunatic. 

Modern  methods  of  destroying  garbage  are  not  considered 
necessary  in  these  favored  quarters  of  the  globe.  The  buz- 


WILD   WINGS 


NEGROES   AND    BLACK    BUZZARDS   ON   THE   CITY  DUMPING-GROUND,   CHARLESTON 

zards  have  secured  the  contract  for  this  work,  and  they  never 
neglect  their  duties.  At  this  particular  time,  in  May,  there 
must  have  been  upwards  of  a  thousand  buzzards  in  sight,  all 
of  them  the  Black  Vulture.  The  fences  of  the  slaughter-pens 
were  fairly  black  with  them,  awaiting  patiently  the  good 
pleasure  of  the  butchers,  and  they  had  little  objection  to  my 
walking  up  close  and  taking  their  pictures.  When  I  finally 
scared  them  off,  they  settled  down  on  a  marshy  place  near 
by,  joining  a  regiment  of  their  fellows  already  there.  Thither 
I  followed,  and  took  some  photographs  of  this  remarkable 
conclave. 

Out  on  the  open  lots  where  the  city  carts  were  dumping  the 
garbage,  numbers  of  negro  women  and  children  were  poking 
over  these  leavings,  in  hope  of  finding  some  prize,  and  with 
them  were  the  buzzards,  getting  their  share.  Neither  class  paid 
attention  to  the  other,  and  they  were  closely  intermingled,  on 
evident  terms  of  good  fellowship.  By  courtesy  I  was  allowed 


SCAVENGERS   OF  THE  SOUTH  115 

to  join  the  company,  and  I  was   interested  enough  in  all 
I  saw. 

I  should  have  liked  to  visit  the  night-roost  of  the  buzzards, 
which  in  the  days  of  Audubon  was  in  some  woods  two  miles 
from  the  city,  across  the  Ashley  River,  and  may  yet  be  in  use. 
However,  the  limited  time  at  my  disposal  forbade.  Accord- 
ing to  Audubon's  account,  he  and  the  Rev.  John  Bachman 
did  not  find  it  very  clean.  So  be  it.  If  we  should  refine  our 
scavengers  overmuch,  they  would  probably  forage  the  poultry 
yards  and  cease  to  be  the  useful  birds  that  they  are  —  albeit 
they  do  commit  some  depredations  upon  wild  birds'  young 
and  eggs.  But  I  have  no  desire  to  overturn  the  economy  of 
nature,  and  so,  though  the  buzzard's  portraits  do  not  make 
him  out  altogether  as  pretty  as  a  picture  and  fair  as  a  lily, 
I  confess  to  a  feeling  of  great  kindness  to  these  our  humble 
scavengers. 


TURKEY    BUZZARD.    "  ON    PINIONS   MAJESTIC    THE   VULTURE" 


FLOCK    OF    LAUGHING   GULLS    BY   THE   QUARANTINE   STATION 


CHAPTER  VII 


VIRGINIA    BIRD    HOMES    OF    BEACH    AND    MARSH 


.  .  .  with  a  step  I  stand 
On  the  firm-packed  sand, 

Free 
By  a  world  of  marsh  that  borders  a  world  of  sea. 

LANIER. 

THE  fame  of  the  region  had  travelled  afar.    Its  dis- 
tances were  impressive,  its  sea-beaches  magnificent, 
its  marshes  the  very  symbol  of  the  infinite.   But  these 
were  not  the  reasons  for  its  renown.    It  was  a  land  of  birds,  — 
birds  of  sea  and  shore,  of  kinds  not  easy  to  find,  —  rich  both 
as  to  numbers  and  variety.    Winnowing  gulls  and  darting 
terns  of  several  kinds  laid  their  eggs'on  sand  and  marsh,  and 
their  excitable  colonies  added  a  spectacular  interest  to  the 
landscape.    The   singular  and   remarkable   Black  Skimmer 
was  there  in  all  its  glory.    Shore-birds,  some  of  them  nesting, 


VIRGINIA  BIRD   HOMES  117 

could  be  seen  at  their  best.  The  salt  marshes  teemed  with 
Clapper  Rails,  or  Marsh  Hens ;  Ospreys  and  Eagles  built 
their  huge  nests  in  the  strips  of  woods ;  Great  Blue  Herons, 
long  of  neck  and  limb,  plied  their  fishing-trade  and  nested 
in  colonies  somewhere  in  the  vicinity.  The  fact,  too,  that  the 
region  was  one  of  sea  islands  added  to  its  interest,  for  there 
is  a  sort  of  romantic  fascination  about  an  island.  Bird- 
students  from  time  to  time  had  visited  it,  and  their  accounts 
were  always  glowing. 

To  be  definite,  this  favored  locality  comprises  the  islands 
which  lie  off  the  northern  peninsula  of  Virginia.  Of  these, 
Cobb's  Island  has  been  the  most  celebrated,  but  there  are 
several  others  that  are  of  equal  interest.  These  islands  are 
from  two  to  four  miles  from  the  mainland,  long  narrow  strips, 
parallel  with  the  shore,  and  almost  joined  together,  extending 
for  many  miles.  The  backbone  of  each  island  is  a  ridge  of 
sandy  loam,  usually  covered  with  woods  of  tall  pine.  On  the 
ocean  side  are  fine,  broad  sand-beaches,  while  in  the  rear  is 
a  vast  salt  marsh,  cut  up  by  creeks  innumerable.  The  whole 
region  is  a  veritable  Rehoboth,  where  the  traveller  will  find 
no  lack  of  room. 

When  the  time  came  that  my  zeal  would  brook  no  further 
delay  in  seeing  these  things  for  myself,  I  was  unable  to  find 
another  of  like  mind  and  with  the  necessary  time  at  his 
disposal.  Yet,  desirable  and  agreeable  as  is  a  congenial  com- 
panion on  such  a  trip,  its  pleasure  is  not  spoiled  by  one's 
being  alone.  Anticipation  keeps  one  in  a  pleasant  day-dream, 
and  realization  is  sufficiently  absorbing  to  make  one  forget 
all  else. 

On  this  occasion  there  was  no  time  for  lonely  reflection. 
One  evening  late  in  June,  bestowing  myself  in  a  sleeper  berth, 
ere  the  late  train  left  Jersey  City,  I  dreamed  delightfully  of 
the  birds,  and  awoke  early  in  the  morning  not  long  before 


n8  WILD   WINGS 

I  reached  my  destination  at  Cape  Charles,  Virginia.  In  a 
few  moments  I  was  talking  over  the  telephone  with  Captain 
Hitchens  of  the  Smith's  Island  life-saving  station,  my  host, 
who  was  to  meet  me  and  sail  me  across.  Such  modernizing 
of  the  conditions  of  the  supposedly  lonely  and  retired  sea 
islands  hardly  seemed  in  keeping  with  the  purpose  of  my 
journey.  But  after  a  darky  boy  had  driven  me  twelve  miles  in 
a  livery  team,  and  the  genial  keeper  had  sailed  me  four  miles 
across  the  bay  to  his  island  home,  my  hopefulness  returned. 
Aside  from  the  abodes  of  the  keepers  of  the  lighthouse  and 
life-saving  station,  the  government  buildings,  there  was  not 
another  human  habitation.  The  tall  towers  of  the  new  light- 
house on  the  bay  side,  192  feet  high,  and  of  the  old  abandoned 
one  nearly  undermined  by  the  ocean,  almost  as  tall,  showed 
up  over  the  sea,  flats,  and  marsh  for  many  a  mile.  What 
a  difference  the  telephone  makes  in  the  lives  of  these  other- 
wise isolated  families  I  could  vividly  realize,  as  I  heard  the 
keeper  with  whom  I  stayed  "call  up"  in  the  morning  the 
various  other  island  stations  along  the  coast  and  chat  with 
their  keepers  about  the  weather  and  the  occurrences  of  the 
day  or  night.  How  different  from  the  so-called  good  old  times  ! 

The  first  look  from  the  station  southward  down  the  broad 
beach  told  eloquently  of  the  hopeless  resistance  of  these  sea 
islands  to  the  onslaughts  of  the  ocean.  Within  the  memory 
of  man  their  shores  were  a  mile  farther  out  to  sea.  The  spot 
occupied  by  the  station  was  then  in  the  midst  of  a  pine  forest. 
Now  the  buildings  are  all  but  undermined  by  the  waves  which 
storms  drive  up  around  them.  From  the  very  beach  rise  an 
array  of  decaying  stubs  and  stumps,  a  warning  to  the  pines 
behind  them  of  what  will  soon  be  their  fate. 

Somewhere  I  had  received  the  impression  that  the  condi- 
tions of  bird-life  around  my  headquarters  would  be  compar- 
able to  those  of  Noah's  ark.  Really  I  had  almost  expected 


VIRGINIA   BIRD   HOMES  119 

to  gaze  upon  fluttering  multitudes  out  of  my  bedroom 
window.  But  I  was  soon  undeceived,  and  I  found  myself 
next  morning  trudging  up  the  beach  northward,  weighted 
down  with  a  backload  of  impedimenta,  under  the  ardor  of 
the  late  June  sunshine.  For  a  mile  the  way  was  past  the 
pine-tract,  which  contained  many  great  Osprey's  nests,  con- 
spicuous as  hay-mows  in  the  tree-tops.  Then  came  the  sandy 
beach,  unrelieved  by  any  background  save  that  of  the  low, 
interminable  salt  marsh.  A  tramp  of  miles  upon  the  sand 
may  be  wearisome  and  monotonous,  or  not,  according  to 
circumstances.  When  breezes  blow  free  and  the  waves  are 
flowing,  when  shore-birds  pipe  their  clear,  mellow  calls,  when 
sea-birds  flit  gracefully  by  and  plunge  into  the  brine,  one 
forgets  his  burdens  and  feels  as  free  as  they. 

Expecting  such  conditions,  I  plodded  along,  and  was  re- 
warded.   After  about  three  miles  I  began  to  hear  the  sounds 


\ 


NEST   AND    EGGS   OF    THE    BLACK   SKIMMER 


120  WILD  WINGS 

of  bird-flutes,  and  pairs  of  demure  little  Wilson's  Plovers 
ran  pattering  before  me  along  the  shingle.  Some  louder, 
more  incisive  cries  came  from  a  couple  of  Oyster-catchers, 
large  and  wary  shore-birds  that  probably  had  young  in  the 
vicinity.  A  mile  or  two  farther  along  I  began  to  approach  a 
flock  of  good-sized  birds  whose  sooty  black  plumage  showed 
up  with  startling  contrast  against  the  dazzling  glare  of  the 
sand  upon  which  they  were  resting.  Presently  they  took  to 
wing  and  came  dashing  toward  me  like  a  pack  of  hounds  in 
full  cry.  Darting  past,  they  revealed  their  white  under  parts 
and  great  carmine  bills,  the  lower  mandible  projecting  be- 
yond the  upper  one.  This  most  singular  bird  is  the  Black 
Skimmer.  Were  there  nothing  else  picturesque  in  the  land- 
scape, these  would  suffice  and  would  furnish  inducement 
enough  for  the  trip  down  into  old  Virginia. 

About  a  dozen  pairs  of  them  were  nesting  at  this  particu- 
lar spot.  By  threes  and  fours  their  rather  large  white  eggs, 
handsomely  marked  with  black,  were  readily  seen  lying  in 
hollows  in  the  dry  sand  above  high-water  mark.  They  make 
no  nest  whatever,  save  to  scratch  out  a  little  round  depression, 
which  is  similar  to  the  numerous  wallows  where  the  birds 
have  been  squatting  to  bask  in  the  sun.  A  few  hundred 
yards  beyond  was  another  group  of  perhaps  twenty  nests, 
and  so  these  groups  recurred,  as  I  continued  my  way  along 
the  seemingly  endless  beach. 

It  was  a  lively  and  beautiful  scene.  Parties  of  Skimmers 
were  flying  about  in  all  directions,  some  across  the  sand, 
other  bands  close  over  the  surface  of  the  ocean  just  outside 
the  white  line  of  the  lazily  breaking  surf.  One  moment  they 
would  wheel  and  look  like  snowy  terns,  then  immediately 
they  would  become  as  black  as  crows,  according  as  they 
presented  their  lower  or  upper  parts.  But  their  cries !  Some- 
times one  would  suddenly  dash  by  me  and  utter,  almost  in 


VIRGINIA   BIRD   HOMES 


121 


"  PARTIES    OF   SKIMMERS    WERE    FLYING    ABOUT  "4 

my  ear,  a  veritable  shriek,  loud  enough  to  startle  one  greatly, 
if  taken  unawares.  More  often  the  cry  was  a  reiteration  of 
sounds  which  reminded  me  of  the  violent  sobbing  of  a  child, 
made  by  drawing  in  the  breath.  They  were  anxious  about 
their  eggs ;  indeed  it  would  sound  as  though  they  were 
fairly  heart-broken.  If  they  really  suffered  as  much  as  their 
curious  remonstrance  seemed  to  imply,  I  should  have  felt  posi- 
tively guilty  in  subjecting  them  to  such  outrageous  indignity 
by  prying  into  their  domestic  privacy  and  happiness.  I  called 
them  "  the  sobbing  birds,"  and  they  darted  about  and  sobbed 
their  hearts  away  as  long  as  I  stayed  near  their  nests.  As 
they  "  sobbed,"  I  could  see  their  bills,  like  pairs  of  great 
shears,  open  and  shut,  as  though,  in  flying  by,  they  would 
snip  off  my  ears.  Flying  low  over  the  water,  they  seem  to 
shear  it  as  they  quickly,  in  passing,  pick  up  fish  or  other 
marine  creatures  from  the  surface. 

To   photograph    them    in   flight   successfully   requires    a 


122  WILD  WINGS 

camera  of  the  reflecting,  or  "  reflex,"  type.  Such  at  this  time 
I  did  not  possess.  Focusing  upon  a  certain  point,  I  snapped 
a  dozen  times  as  the  birds  passed  the  exact  spot.  Though 
I  am  called  a  good  shot  with  the  shot-gun,  I  actually  in  this 
case  did  not  "  hit  "  a  single  bird  and  get  it  on  the  plate.  All 
the  flight  pictures  I  have  secured  of  Skimmers  were  taken  in 
a  subsequent  year,  before  the  nesting-season,  when  the  birds 
were  quite  wary,  and  had  me  at  great  disadvantage. 

But  I  did  manage  to  photograph  them  upon  their  nests. 
One  way  was  with  the  telephoto  lens  at  quite  a  distance. 
This,  however,  secured  only  a  small  and  not  very  satisfactory 
picture.  So  I  tried  placing  the  camera  close  to  a  nest,  to 
make  the  exposure  by  a  thread  from  a  distance.  This  did 
not  work,  as  the  eggs  were  freshly  laid,  and  the  birds  not 
very  anxious  to  incubate.  So  I  left  small  heaps  of  seaweed 
near  certain  of  the  nests,  and  had  no  trouble  next  day  in 
securing  all  the  pictures  I  required.  After  the  camera  was 
properly  set,  and  covered  with  the  weed,  and  I  had  lain  down 
upon  the  sand  at  some  distance,  the  bird  would  soon  return 
and  alight  about  a  rod  from  the  nest.  After  a  few  moments' 
hesitation  she  would  patter  over  to  the  eggs  and  settle  down 
upon  them,  always  facing  the  wind.  All  I  had  to  do  then 
was  to  pull  the  thread,  and  then  change  plates  and  try  again, 
if  I  wished  another  picture. 

Along  these  reaches  of  sand  many  terns  were  also  nesting, 
laying  their  three  eggs  —  smaller  than  those  of  the  Skimmer, 
and  with  a  darker  drab  ground-color  —  in  hollows  of  the  sand 
or  among  shells  and  pebbles,  usually  with  a  little  lining  of 
straw,  or  at  least  of  chip's  of  shell.  Wherever  I  went  bands 
of  terns  were  hovering  overhead,  with  piercing  cries.  Most  of 
them  were  the  Common  Tern,  but  quite  a  few  were  of  the 
Southern  species  known  as  the  Marsh  or  Gull-billed  Tern. 
Both  are  very  similar  in  color,  —  white,  with  pearl-gray 


VIRGINIA   BIRD    HOMES  125 

backs,  and  black  cap  and  wing-tips,  —  except  that  the  former 
species  has  an  orange  bill,  the  latter  a  black  one.  The  nests 
were  scattered  irregularly  about  and  usually  contained  three 
eggs. 

The  great  salt  marsh  back  of  the  narrow  strip  of  sand  was 
meanwhile  offering  its  allurements.  Willets  were  flying  about 
with  loud  outcries,  distressed  lest  I  should  find  their  young. 


BLACK   SKIMMER    INCUBATING   EGGS 


A  flock  of  Laughing  Gulls  —  so  called  from  their  laughter- 
like  cacklings  —  were  preening  their  feathers  by  a  pool  on 
the  marsh's  edge.  The  occasional  "  cluck,  cluck"  of  some 
Marsh  Hen,  or  Clapper  Rail,  invisible  in  the  grass,  bespoke 
a  new  wonder  of  which  I  desired  to  know  more.  Although 
there  are  doubtless  tens  of  thousands  of  these  peculiar  birds 
on  all  these  great  marshes,  I  learned  to  my  chagrin  that 
it  was  by  no  means  easy  to  find  a  nest.  Two  hours'  hard 
tramping  over  the  sticky  and  treacherous  expanse  failed  to 
reward  me  with  an  occupied  nest.  Two  were  discovered  from 
which  the  young  had  gone.  They  were  neat,  saucer-shaped 


126  WILD   WINGS 

platforms  of  dry  stems,  built  in  tussocks  just  above  the 
reach  of  the  tides  which  flow  up  all  over  the  marsh,  and  were 
canopied  over  by  the  grass  in  a  very  pretty  manner.  At  one 
time  I  caught  sight  of  a  little  black  young  rail,  which  led  me 
a  sorry  chase  over  a  soft  mud-flat,  greatly  to  the  detriment  of 
my  personal  appearance.  I  had  almost  caught  it,  I  thought, 
when  suddenly,  as  though  by  magic,  it  faded  from  my  sight 
amid  a  few  sparse  blades  of  marsh  grass.  Oh !  but  I  was 
thirsty  that  day !  It  was  blazing  hot,  and  the  marsh  seemed 
like  a  furnace.  After  drinking  the  last  of  the  precious  water, 
I  found  some  relief  in  a  dip  in  the  ocean.  Then  came  an 
eight-mile  tramp.  Next  day  the  keeper  provided  me  with  a 
horse  and  tipcart  for  the  same  jaunt.  This  time  I  took  plenty 
of  water,  but,  in  an  evil  hour,  I  made  the  horse  trot  upon 
the  apparently  smooth  sand-beach.  Everything  on  board  the 
springless  cart  began  to  leap  into  the  air.  A  hole  was 
chipped  in  the  bottle,  and  nearly  all  the  water  had  leaked  out 
ere  I  knew  it.  Only  about  half  a  pint  was  saved  by  holding 
the  wreck  of  the  bottle  in  my  hand  as  I  drove,  and  I  had 
another  thirsty  day  of  it. 

The  numerous  Laughing  Gulls  were  not  nesting  in  these 
particular  marshes,  and  to  locate  them  I  scoured  the  bays  and 
marshes  far  and  near  in  a  sail-boat  with  the  keeper.  Away 
out  near  the  entrance  of  Chesapeake  Bay  lie  a  group  of  small 
islands,  upon  one  of  which  is  a  U.  S.  quarantine  station, 
about  as  isolated  a  location  as  one  could  well  find.  Here, 
upon  the  wide  flats,  were  Laughing  Gulls  by  the  hundreds, 
consorting  with  Black  Skimmers  and  Common  Terns.  But 
what  amazed  me  most,  as  I  landed  upon  a  low  sand-bar  of 
an  island,  was  to  find  scores  and  scores  of  the  Black  Tern, 
in  full  breeding  plumage,  hovering  overhead,  darting  down 
at  us,  and  acting  exactly  as  they  do  out  in  the  sloughs  of 
North  Dakota  when  one  approaches  their  nests.  The  strange 


VIRGINIA   BIRD   HOMES  127 


LAUGHING   GULLS    HOVERING   OVER   THEIR   NESTS 

thing  is  that  they  are  not  known  to  breed  in  eastern  North 
America,  though  they  occur  as  migrants.  Unfortunately 
there  had  been  a  high  tide  which  had  washed  the  key  clean 
of  all  nests  and  eggs,  certainly  of  Black  Skimmers  and  Com- 
mon Terns,  and  probably  of  the  Black  Terns  also.  I  noticed 
one  little  hollow,  lined  with  weed,  which  looked  like  one  of 
their  nests. 

On  another  islet,  —  this  one  marshy,  —  a  dozen  miles  to  the 
northward  of  this,  I  finally  found  my  first  nest  of  the  Marsh 
Hen.  First  of  all,  in  landing  there,  I  discovered  several  nests 
of  the  Forster's  Tern,  mere  hollows  in  piles  of  dry  eel-grass 
drifted  up  on  the  marsh  grass.  One  of  these,  which  had  the 
usual  three  eggs,  I  photographed,  and  with  it  the  female  bird 
in  the  act  of  alighting.  This  was  done  by  setting  the  camera 
upon  the  tripod  and  pulling  the  thread  from  hiding  in  some 


128  WILD   WINGS 

long  grass.  A  few  days  later  I  returned  to  show  the  nest  to 
a  friend.  As  we  stood  by  it,  I  caught  sight  of  a  gleam  of 
white,  and  there  was  a  nest  with  eleven  eggs  of  the  Marsh 
Hen,  skilfully  concealed  under  the  canopied  grass.  I  had 
placed  my  tripod  directly  over  it,  and  then  gone  away  with- 
out detecting  its  presence. 

Stepping  back  from  this  nest  a  few  feet,  I  suddenly  flushed 
the  mother  bird,  which  I  had  almost  trodden  upon.  So  con- 
fident are  they  in  their  protective  coloration  and  surround- 
ings that  they  are  almost  fearless  of  dull-eyed  man.  The  day 
before  this  I  had  waded  out  in  a  marsh  at  high  tide  to  a  little 
hummock  and,  standing  upon  it,  clapped  my  hands  to  start 
up  a  Willet  which  had  alighted  out  beyond.  Upon  this  up 
jumped  a  Marsh  Hen  almost  from  between  my  legs.  It,  too, 
had  taken  refuge  from  the  tide  and  did  not  intend  to  yield  its 
ground  for  any  ordinary  alarm.  Sometimes  I  saw  them,  when 
suddenly  flushed,  fly  straight  out  into  the  bay  and  alight  upon 
the  water,  where  they  would  swim  like  ducks. 

Despite  all  accounts,  I  did  not  find  the  Laughing  Gulls' 
nesting-grounds  till  I  extended  my  wanderings  to  the  vicinity 
of  Cobb's  Island.  Meanwhile  I  had  found  and  photographed 
a  rookery  of  Great  Blue  Herons  on  the  mainland.  As  we 
approached  a  little  marsh  island  in  our  sail-boat,  bands  of 
hovering,  cackling  gulls  gave  assurance  of  certain  success. 
The  very  first  thing  one  of  the  men  saw,  on  jumping  from  the 
boat,  was  a  Marsh  Hen's  nest  with  eight  eggs.  The  over- 
arching of  the  grass  revealed  it.  Very  close  by  was  another 
with  eight  eggs,  and  still  another  with  eleven.  It  was  now 
July  2,  and  these  were  second  layings,  for  the  Marsh  Hens 
here  begin  their  family  cares  in  April  or  early  May.  Then  we 
discovered,  here  and  there  on  the  marsh,  the  nests  of  the 
Laughing  Gulls,  hollows  in  piles  of  drift-weed,  in  each  of 
which  were  three  drab-colored  mottled  eggs. 


VIRGINIA   BIRD   HOMES 


129 


Toward  evening  we  landed  upon  Cobb's  Island  at  the  life- 
saving  station  which  stands  on  piles  at  the  edge  of  the 
immense  salt  marsh.  Here  we  were  pleasantly  entertained  by 
"  Captain  Jack  "  and  his  family.  A  long  bridge  on  piles  leads 
across  the  marsh  to  the  outer  beach.  These  structures  and 
a  very  few  others  loom  above  the  water  and  the  tops  of  the 


YOUNG    COMMON    TERNS,    READY   TO    ESCAPE 

submerged  grass  at  high  tide,  and  are  all  that  are  left  of 
a  thriving  village  with  schools  and  churches.  The  sea  has 
claimed  its  own,  and,  never  satiated,  clamors  for  more.  It  is 
not  man  who  will  say  it  nay. 

Next  day  we  traversed  the  long  bridge  and  found  ourselves 
upon  the  ocean  front,  which  was  backed  by  a  wonderful  ridge 
extending  perhaps  a  mile  and  composed  entirely  of  shells, 


1 30  WILD   WINGS 

particularly  of  oysters,  scallops,  and  sea-clams.  Some  of  the 
terns  by  this  time  had  young.  The  downy  little  fellows  do 
not  remain  long  in  the  home-nest,  but  wander  about  freely 
over  the  warm  sand.  Nature's  "  protective  coloration  "  won- 
derfully blends  them  with  their  surroundings.  When  an 
enemy  approaches,  all  they  have  to  do  is  to  squat  and  keep 
perfectly  still,  and  the  chances  are  that  they  will  not  be  no- 
ticed. 

At  one  place  a  Marsh  Tern  was  making  a  great  ado  over 
my  presence,  screaming  and  swooping  down  so  vigorously 
as  almost  to  strike  me  on  the  head.  Slowly  walking  about, 
I  kept  my  eyes  fastened  on  the  glaring  sand.  After  some  mo- 
ments, I  suddenly  spied  the  cause  of  the  commotion,  a  young 
tern  squatting  at  the  foot  of  a  weed.  During  the  quarter  of 
an  hour  I  spent  photographing  it,  not  a  yard  away,  the  little 
creature  did  not  stir  a  hair's  breadth.  As  long  as  I  did  not 
touch  it,  it  evidently  thought  itself  unobserved.  But  when  my 
work  was  done,  I  gave  the  touch  that  dissolved  the  magic 
spell,  and  it  went  racing  away. 

In  this  vicinity  the  Laughing  Gulls  were  also  nesting. 
Some  had  nests  out  on  the  marsh,  others  in  the  clumps  of 
coarse  grass  just  back  from  the  beach.  I  chose  a  spot  where 
there  were  only  a  few  scattered  pairs,  to  make  as  little  com- 
motion as  possible  and  not  to  keep  many  birds  long  off  their 
nests,  where  I  began  the  ordeal  of  trying  to  photograph  them 
at  short  range.  Selecting  a  nest  with  the  usual  three  eggs, 
conveniently  located,  I  set  the  camera  on  the  ground  near 
it  in  a  clump  of  grass,  the  latter  arched  over  it  in  what 
I  thought  to  be  a  masterly  manner.  As  I  lay  hidden,  peering 
over  a  sand-dune,  thread  in  hand,  I  was  prepared  to  see  the 
gull  return  almost  at  once  to  its  nest.  Soon  the  bird  was 
hovering  over  it ;  she  seemed  about  to  alight,  when  away 
she  went.  Making  a  few  circlings,  she  came  back,  but  after 


VIRGINIA   BIRD   HOMES 


YOUNG    MARSH    TERN    HIDING 


hovering  provokingly,  throwing  up  her  wings  as  though 
certainly  alighting,  again  was  off.  This  was  repeated  till 
I  was  thoroughly  tired.  No  further  covering  of  the  camera, 
changing  its  position,  trimming  it  with  leaves,  or  making  an 
arched  passage  for  it  under  the  grass  made  any  difference. 
Then  I  tried  other  nests,  and  it  was  the  same  old  story.  Thus 
was  nearly  a  whole  day  wasted. 

Next  day  was  my  last,  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  roasting 
hot,  but  I  was  early  at  the  work  again.  The  night  before 
I  had  placed  piles  of  seaweed  near  the  nests,  and  was  con- 
fident of  success.  But  as  the  hours  again  slipped  away,  and 
no  bird  had  given  me  a  shot,  I  nearly  lost  hope,  for  I  had  to 
start  back  at  one  o'clock.  Lying  on  my  face  in  the  burning 
sand,  I  began  to  fear  being  overcome  by  the  heat,  and 


132 


WILD   WINGS 


thought  wistfully  of  my  family  up  in  Connecticut  eating  ice 
cream  in  the  cool  shade ! 

At  quarter  of  one  I  seemed  to  be  no  nearer  succeeding 
than  I  had  been  the  morning  before.  All  my  resources  were 
exhausted,  and  I  was  about  ready  to  quit,  when  suddenly  the 
hovering  gull  threw  up  her  wings,  and  down  she  went.  As 
I  was  two  hundred  yards  away,  I  could  not  be  sure  that 
she  was  really  on  her  eggs.  So  I  waited  five  minutes,  and 
then,  seeing  nothing  more  of  her,  I  carefully  and  slowly  drew 
the  thread  taut.  Almost  as  soon  as  I  stood  up,  the  gull  flew, 
evidently  from  the  nest. 

This  made  me  feel  that  at  any  cost  I  must  have  just  one 
more  picture.  So  I  changed  the  plate,  set  the  shutter  again, 


LAUGHING   GULL   ON    HER    NEST 


VIRGINIA   BIRD    HOMES 


133 


and  returned  to  hiding.  The  gull  worried  me  for  another  half 
hour,  and  then  gave  me  my  wish.  With  glad  heart  I  removed 
the  camera,  left  the  birds  in  peace,  and  hurried  back  to  the 
life-saving  station,  in  time  to  be  taken  across  the  bay,  and, 
elbowing  through  throngs  of  dark-faced  celebrants  in  the 
town,  to  catch  the  evening  train  for  home. 


& 


NEST    AND    EGGS    OF   MARSH    TERN 


THE   AMERICAN    EGRET    IN    FLIGHT 


CHAPTER    VIII 


THE    EGRET,    IN    NATURE    AND    IN    FASHION 


Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 

Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong. 


BRYANT. 


THE  splendid  snow-white  heron  known  as  the  Amer- 
ican Egret,  one  of  the  few  kinds  which  bear  the 
aigrette  plumes  of  millinery  and  commerce,  is  among 
the  waning  species  of  America.  In  Audubon's  time  it  was 
common  all  over  the  southeastern  quarter  of  the  country. 
Now  there  is  but  a  pitiful  remnant  in  the  southern  part  of 
Florida,  and  a  few  other  spots.  Indeed  it  is  generally  sup- 
posed that  there  are  practically  none  outside  of  Florida.  So 
when  I  made  a  trip  to  another  part  of  the  South,  to  study  and 
photograph  birds,  the  Egret  was  not  reckoned  in  as  a  likeli- 
hood, and  but  barely  a  possibility. 


THE   EGRET  135 

When  the  question  was  up  for  decision  whether  or  not  to 
go  to  a  certain  locality,  the  information  that  "  white  cranes  " 
were  constantly  seen,  and  might  be  nesting  somewhere  about, 
decided  it  in  the  affirmative.  So  great  a  romantic,  aesthetic, 
yes,  and  pathetic  interest  attaches  to  this  beautiful,  spectacular 
species  that  one  might  well  travel  far  for  the  chance,  however 
slim,  of  studying  it  from  life,  ere  it  is  too  late. 

Thus  it  came  about,  at  length,  that  after  a  long  sail  up  a 
series  of  narrow,  tortuous  creeks,  between  walls  of  impassable 
mud  and  through  immense  salt  marshes,  we  found  ourselves 
anchored  at  the  desired  locality.  Even  before  the  anchor 
took  the  mud,  late  in  the  afternoon,  I  had  seen  the  sun  glance 
on  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  several  dozen  of  the  Egrets 
as  they  flew  to  and  from  the  marsh,  immaculate  amid  the 
Southern  mud  which  sticks  like  glue. 

On  shore,  in  the  little  village,  the  opinion  prevailed  that 
the  "white  cranes"  nested  in  a  strip  of  timber  on  the  edge 
of  the  marsh,  four  miles  away,  and  a  negro  boatman  was 
engaged  to  row  us  over  .there  bright  and  early.  When  the 
sun  rose,  we  could  see  Egrets  flying  toward  the  timber,  and 
several  of  the  trees  appeared  white,  as  though  crowded  with 
the  birds.  Two  of  our  company  started  off  directly  in  the 
tender  upon  another  jaunt,  while  another  and  myself  waited 
for  the  darky.  By  nine  o'clock  we  were  feeling  the  race 
problem  increasingly  from  the  Southern  standpoint.  Finally 
we  managed  to  hail  a  passing  boat,  and  a  negro  boy  pulled 
us  up  the  creeks  to  the  desired  locality.  There  was  not 
a  sign  of  a  heron  there ;  the  whiteness  on  the  trees  was  the 
sunlight  glancing  on  the  dark,  shiny  leaves.  But  we  accom- 
plished much  by  meeting  a  man  who  was  a  hunter  and  had 
traversed  the  region  thoroughly,  who  told  us  where  the  Egret 
rookery  really  was. 

Following  his  directions,  we  had  the  boy  row  us  back  to 


136  WILD   WINGS 

the  yacht,  and  then  to  the  settlement,  where  we  hired  a  con- 
veyance and  drove  ten  miles  through  a  region  of  sandy  soil 
and  pine  forest  to  an  old  rice-plantation.  There  we  hunted  up 
the  foreman,  who  knew  the  location  of  the  rookery,  in  a  great 
cypress  swamp.  We  found  him  kind  and  willing,  ready  to 
take  us  to  the  place  at  once.  First  we  tramped  a  mile  along 
a  woodland  trail,  when  we  came  to  an  arm  of  muddy  water 
under  high,  overarching  trees,  and  a  small,  flat-bottomed 
skiff.  Working  two  paddles,  we  glided  on  and  soon  emerged 
in  a  great  area  of  cypress  trees  growing  out  of  the  water. 
Alligators  and  turtles  splashed  before  us,  and  buzzards  and 
ospreys  wheeled  overhead.  From  the  cypress  branches,  with 
their  delicate  needle-foliage  of  pale  green,  hung  the  streaming 
gray  moss.  Pairs  of  Wood  Ducks  started  up  now  and  then 
from  the  water  with  resounding  wing-beats.  Bees  hummed 
merrily  about,  and  now  and  then  were  to  be  seen  issuing 
from  the  hollow  of  some  "bee-tree,"  which  was,  no  doubt, 
full  of  delectable  honey.  It  was  a  new  experience,  with  an 
atmosphere  of  weirdness  and  grandeur,  to  be  gliding  silently 
over  the  water  under  the  shadows  of  moss-bearded  forest 
sentinels. 

The  beginning  of  the  rookery  was  over  a  mile  beyond  us> 
and  meanwhile  we  were  interested  in  the  huge  nests  of  the 
Ospreys,  built  on  the  extreme  tops  of  dead  cypress  stubs, 
thirty  to  sixty  feet  from  the  water.  We  paused  by  one  com- 
paratively low  down,  and  secured  some  good  snap-shots  as 
the  angry  female  alighted  in  the  nest  or  was  leaving  it. 

Though  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  a  shower  was 
imminent,  we  determined  to  see  something  of  the  rookery 
that  night,  and  to  explore  it  more  thoroughly  next  day.  So 
we  paddled  on,  stopping  all  too  often  to  push  the  boat  off  from 
some  submerged  snag  on  which  we  were  stranded.  At  length 
the  harsh  squawking  of  herons  became  audible,  and  we 


THE   EGRET 


139 


glided  into  a  minor  rookery  which  was  only  halfway  to  the 
sanctum  sanctorum  of  the  saintly-appearing  bird  in  white. 
Egrets  and  Great  Blue  Herons  were  here  nesting  in  peaceful 
neighborliness.  The  great  ragged  platforms  of  sticks  that 
formed  the  homes  of  each  species  were  scattered  indiscrimi- 
nately upon  adjoining  trees  over  a  couple  of  acres  of  space. 
They  were  high  up  on  the  outspreading  boughs,  and  the 


EGRETS   AND    LITTLE    BLUE    HERONS 


great  birds,  broad  of  wing,  flapped  noisily  therefrom  at  our 
approach  and  went  squawking  away.  It  was  the  twentieth 
of  May,  and  both  kinds  had  well-feathered  young,  which 
were  visible  as  they  stood  up  in  the  nests  or  climbed  out  on 
the  neighboring  branches.  As  we  remained  quiet  to  watch, 
the  old  birds  began  to  pass  silently  overhead,  and  even  to 
alight  on  the  nests.  The  shower  passed  with  a  mere  sprinkle 
and  I  had  a  brief  season  of  sunshine  for  photography,  but 
under  great  difficulties,  in  the  thickness  and  shadow  of  the 


140 


WILD   WINGS 


YOUNG   LITTLE   BLUE   HERONS 


submerged  forest.  The  trees  were  unclimbable,  and  the  birds 
wary. 

The  region  is  one  of  malarial  fever,  and  no  white  man 
dares  remain  there  past  sundown  during  the  warm  season. 
Even  the  overseer  always  drives  back  to  town  after  the  day's 
work.  So  soon  we,  too,  had  to  quit,  take  the  long  jaunt  to 
the  yacht,  and  return  early  next  morning.  My  friend  thought 
he  had  had  enough  of  it,  so  I  left  the  party,  put  up  with  the 
overseer,  and  drove  with  him  on  his  buckboard  drawn  by 
a  little  runt  of  a  mule,  employing  him  as  guide  to  the  rookery 
and  other  interesting  localities. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  before  we  could  reach  the  swamp  again. 
The  guide  and  a  negro  paddled,  while  I  was  perched  up  in 


THE   EGRET 


141 


YOUNG   EGRETS   IN   NEST 


the  bow  with  my  reflex  camera,  ready  to  do  a  better  day's 
work  than  did  Audubon,  when  he  and  the  Rev.  John  Bach- 
man  visited  an  Egret  rookery  and  killed  forty-six  of  the 
birds.  He  quaintly  comments,  in  his  great  book,  that  "  many 
more  of  them  might  have  been  killed,  but  we  became  tired  of 
shooting  them."  What  wonder!  But  those  were  unenlight- 
ened times,  and  there  was  no  "  camera-hunting." 

Passing  the  scenes  of  yesterday,  where  there  were  prob- 
ably a  hundred  of  the  egrets  and  herons  breeding,  we  came  in 
time  to  the  day  of  larger  things.  First  we  met,  as  we  con- 
tinued to  navigate  this  cypress-sea,  scattered  nests,  with  eggs, 
of  the  Yellow-crowned  Night  Heron.  Then  we  began  to  meet 
individuals  of  the  familiar  Black-crowned  Night  Heron  of  the 


142  WILD   WINGS 

North,  also  breeding,  and  soon  emerged  into  a  more  open 
area  where  the  trees  grew  more  sparsely  and  not  so  tall.  At 
every  rod  of  progress  dozens  and  scores  of  Egrets  and  of 
the  smaller,  dark-colored  Little  Blue  Herons,  with  numbers 
of  the  bluish  but  white-breasted  Louisiana  Herons,  kept 
springing  into  the  air.  For  nearly  half  a  mile  we  kept  on, 
and  it  was  the  same  story.  Then,  as  the  abundance  began 
to  lessen,  we  returned  to  the  heart  of  the  rookery  to  spend 
the  day. 

The  two  small  herons  nested  quite  low  down,  the  former 
even  in  clumps  of  bushes,  so  that  it  was  comparatively  easy 
to  secure  photographs  of  the  eggs  and  young  in  these  nests. 
It  was  not  so  with  the  Egrets,  which  nested  high  in  the 
cypresses.  Though  I  had  no  climbing-irons,  I  finally  ascended 
one  slender  tree  to  an  Egret's  nest  about  forty  feet  up.  There 
were  three  bluish  eggs  in  it,  but  it  was  situated  in  the  top- 
most fork,  with  only  a  slender,  rotten  stub  above,  and  could 
not  be  photographed.  One  other  to  which  I  managed  to 
climb  had  three  rather  small  young.  Though  similarly  situ- 
ated, the  stub  above  was  a  trifle  stouter,  and  I  managed,  with 
some  trepidation,  to  screw  up  my  small  camera,  replace  the 
refractory  young  many  a  time  in  the  nest,  hang  on  with 
my  eyelids  in  the  gusts  of  wind,  and  make  some  successful 
exposures. 

The  Egrets  were  quite  timid.  Perched  on  high  stubs, 
singly  or  in  small  parties,  they  would  crane  their  necks  at 
the  approaching  boat  and  fly  all  too  soon.  If  one  happened 
to  perch  lower  down  and  we  were  able  to  approach  it  closely 
under  cover,  it  would  be  off  the  instant  we  showed  ourselves 
and  before  I  could  get  an  unobstructed  view  with  the  camera. 
So  photography,  it  must  be  admitted,  was  difficult  and  vex- 
atious. 

But  it  was  a  wonderful  sight,  well  worth  travelling  far  to 


THE   EGRET 

see.  Upon  any  sudden  noise,  hundreds  of  these  different 
herons  would  spring  from  the  trees  everywhere  about.  Then 
they  would  return  and  alight  upon  the  tree-tops,  the  delicate 
snow-white  plumes  from  the  backs  of  the  Egrets  straying 
out  bewitchingly  in  the  breeze.  Nearly  all  day  we  paddled 


EGRET    WATCHING   APPROACH    OF   BOAT 


about  amid  the  lacustrine  forest,  and  I  revelled  in  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  this  wonderful  place,  which  is  probably  the 
largest,  and  perhaps  the  only  large,  Egret  rookery  in  North 
America.  The  only  reason  that  it  exists  to-day  is  because  it 
is  guarded  by  armed  wardens  who  will  arrest,  or,  if  necessary, 


144  WILD   WINGS 

shoot,  any  person  found  upon  the  property  with  a  gun.  And 
where  is  it  ?  May  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth, 
if  I  reveal  the  Egrets'  secret. 

This  whole  business  of  the  slaughter  of  the  white  herons  — 
to  say  nothing  of  other  birds  —  for  their  plumes  for  millinery 
purposes  is  one  that  every  lover  of  nature  and  every  person 
of  humane  feeling  who  understands  the  case  will  regard  as 
no  less  than  infamous.  This  is  one  of  the  moral  questions  — 
to  be  classed  with  the  opium  traffic  and  the  slave  trade  —  to 
which  there  is  but  one  side.  The  origin  of  this  trade  is  ignor- 
ance on  the  one  hand  and  greed  for  money  on  the  other,  and 
there  is  not  one  true  word  which  can  be  said  in  its  defence. 

It  should  be  understood  at  the  outset  that  these  plumes  — 
which  are  variously  called  by  milliners  "  aigrettes,"  "  stubs," 
or  "  ospreys,"  and  are  dyed  to  whatever  color  is  fashionable 
—  are  borne  by  herons,  and  only  during  the  nuptial  season, 
and  can  be  secured  only  by  shooting  the  birds  when  they 
have  assembled  in  colonies  to  breed,  when  their  usual  shyness 
has  departed,  owing  to  the  strength  of  the  parental  instinct. 
Returning  to  their  nests,  they  are  shot  down  and  their  young 
are  left  to  starve. 

Let  it  be  nailed  as  a  trade  lie  that  these  plumes  are 
secured  in  any  other  way.  I  do  not  think  that  it  can  be  said 
that  I  do  not  make  use  of  my  eyes  ;  yet  in  all  my  explorations 
of  these  rookeries  I  have  found  but  ONE  solitary  "  aigrette  " 
feather,  badly  worn  at  that.  It  is  inconceivable,  impossible, 
that  any  one  could  find  them  in  paying  quantities,  scattered 
about  in  these  morasses  and  jungles.  NEITHER  ARE  THEY 
MANUFACTURED.  This  lie  has  also  been  "  nailed,"  as  when 
recently  a  leading  firm  in  England,  —  for  whom  the  claim 
had  been  made,  —  though  challenged  to  show  one  single 
manufactured  plume,  was  unable  to  do  so.  Manufactured 
aigrettes  and  hens'  teeth  belong  to  the  same  class. 


THE   EGRET 


145 


This  traffic  has  almost  exterminated  the  two  plume-bearing 
species  of  white  herons  found  in  the  United  States,  —  the 
Snowy  Heron,  a  small  species,  with  curling  plumes,  and  the 
much  larger  American  Egret,  with  straight  ones.  There  are 
several  other  closely  similar  species  in  South  America  and 


FEMALE    EGRET    ON    HER    NEST 


in  other  parts  of  the  world.  At  the  present  rate  of  destruc- 
tion, a  decade  or  two  more  will  make  each  of  these  American 
and  foreign  herons  as  extinct  as  the  wild  buffalo  and  the 
Great  Auk.  Then  where  will  woman  get  her  aigrettes  ?  Why 
could  she  not  just  as  well  cease  wearing  them  now  as  a 
dozen  years  hence,  and  save  these  harmless  and  beautiful 
birds  to  fill  their  proper  place  in  the  natural  economy  ? 

That  the  work  of  destruction  is  going  on  with  rapidity,  one 
cannot  fail  to  realize  who  has  been  to  Florida.    There,  years 


i46  WILD   WINGS 

ago,  these  beautiful  and  spectacular  species  of  water-fowl 
were  to  be  seen  nearly  everywhere.  In  1903  I  had  hard  work 
to  find  a  few  scattered  colonies  in  the  remotest  and  wildest 
parts  of  the  state,  in  the  unsurveyed  and  trackless  swamps 
of  its  lower  end.  Mr.  F.  M.  Chapman  went  there  last  season 
and  found  them  all  practically  annihilated.  The  same  is 
becoming  true  even  in  southern  Brazil. 

When  we  know  about  the  millinery  plume  trade,  we  under- 
stand the  reason.  In  1903  the  price  for  plumes  offered  to 
hunters  was  $32  per  ounce,  which  makes  the  plumes  worth 
about  TWICE  THEIR  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD.  There  will  always 
be  men  who  would  break  any  law  for  such  profit.  No  rookery 
of  these  herons  can  long  exist,  unless  it  be  guarded  by  force 
of  arms  day  and  night. 

Here  are  some  official  figures  of  the  trade  from  one  source 
alone,  of  auctions  at  the  London  Commercial  Sale  Rooms 
during  1902.  There  were  sold  1608  packages  of  "  ospreys," 
that  is,  herons'  plumes.  A  package  is  said  to  average  in 
weight  30  ounces.  This  makes  a  total  of  48,240  ounces.  As 
it  requires  about  four  birds  to  make  an  ounce  of  plumes, 
these  sales  meant  192,960  herons  killed  at  their  nests,  and 
from  two  to  three  times  that  number  of  young  or  eggs 
destroyed.  Is  it,  then,  any  wonder  that  these  species  are  on 
the  verge  of  extinction  ? 

The  killing  of  these  white  herons  —  and  others,  as  well  — 
is  now  punishable  with  heavy  fines,  and  the  Milliners'  Asso- 
ciation of  America  has  pledged  itself  not  to  deal  in  these 
contraband  plumes.  Yet  they  reserve  the  right  to  sell  FOR- 
EIGN plumes.  Now  it  happens  that  these  same  species  also 
breed  in  Central  and  South  America,  and  also  that  the 
plumes  of  distinctly  foreign  species  of  white  herons  are  so 
exactly  similar  to  those  of  our  native  ones  that  not  even  the 
most  expert  ornithologists  can  tell  them  apart.  This  means 


THE   EGRET  147 

the  nullifying  of  our  present  laws,  as  it  is  practically  impos- 
sible to  secure  evidence  of  their  violation  on  the  part  of  the 
dealers.  It  also  means,  unless  some  adequate  means  are 
found,  the  inevitable  destruction  of  all  these  beautiful  species 
from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

In  these  days  there  is  arising  a  many-sided  and  tremendous 
problem  in  regard  to  saving  the  natural  world  from  ignor- 
ant, short-sighted,  commercial  vandalism.  Every  tree  must 
be  cut  down,  every  plant  pulled  up,  every  wild  thing  slaugh- 
tered, every  beautiful  scene  disfigured,  if  only  there  is  money 
to  be  made  from  it.  What  remedies  are  there  to  propose  ? 

Regarding  the  herons,  an  agreement  on  the  part  of  all  the 
nations  concerned  to  penalize  the  killing  of  these  birds  and 
the  possession  (including  wearing)  or  exportation  of  all  such 
plumes  would  be  excellent.  Meanwhile,  in  our  own  country, 
the  POSSESSION  of  all  such  plumes  should  make  one  liable 
to  the  fine  for  killing  a  heron,  which,  in  Florida,  is  $500. 
How  many  aigrettes  would  then  be  bought  and  worn,  pray 
tell! 

Then,  too,  there  should  be  carried  on  all  the  time  a  cam- 
paign of  education,  not  simply  about  this  single  matter  of  the 
"  aigrette,"  but  to  arouse  sympathetic  interest  in  the  lives  of 
all  harmless  wild  creatures,  that  people  may  learn  to  realize 
their  value  and  desire  not  to  kill,  but  to  protect  them.  Teach- 
ers should  so  teach  their  scholars,  parents  their  children, 
the  clergy  preach  to  their  congregations  with  no  uncertain 
voice,  that  no  one  may  in  future  have  an  excuse  for  ignorance 
and  thoughtlessness  of  this  important  subject. 

In  these  enlightened  days  it  should  be  a  matter  of  moral 
principle  with  every  true  lady  neither  to  wear  aigrette  plumes 
nor  any  plumage  of  wild  birds.  Even  if  we  grant  that  man 
has  a  right  to  the  lives  of  wild  creatures,  this  millinery  use  of 
birds  is  too  costly  from  other  standpoints.  It  is  a  dangerous 


148  WILD   WINGS 

thing  to  overturn  the  balance  of  nature.  Destroy  our  birds, 
and  very  soon  we  find  calamity  overtaking  our  harvests, 
orchards,  lawns,  or  foliage,  costing  untold  millions  of  money 
to  the  nation. 

If  women  would  not  buy  these  slaughtered  remains,  with 
the  absurd  idea  that  they  are  ornamental,  men  would  not 
shoot  the  poor  things  for  the  millinery  market,  so  that  the 
responsibility  for  certain  sad  and  irreparable  losses  must  be 
laid  to  woman.  Otherwise  millions  of  beautiful  birds  would 
add  charm  and  interest  to  what  are  rapidly  becoming  well- 
nigh  silent  landscapes.  Multitudes  of  children,  youth,  and 
adults  are  studying  birds  afield,  finding  pure  delight,  intellec- 
tual uplift,  cure  of  care,  incentive  to  outdoor  exercise,  with 
consequent  gain  to  health  and  prolongation  of  life.  Attend- 
ants and  nurses  in  sanitariums  are  pursuing  courses  in  bird- 
study,  in  order  to  interest  their  patients  in  out-of-door  things, 
to  the  saving  of  health  and  life,  in  these  days  of  nervous 
strain.  Every  woman  who  wears  feathers  of  harmless  or  use- 
ful wild  birds  is  making  herself  a  stumbling-block  in  the  way 
of  all  this  good,  and  is,  even  though  thoughtlessly,  an  abettor 
in  the  ultimate  destruction  of  our  bird-life,  which  is  certain 
to  come,  if  the  present  course  is  pursued. 

I  venture  to  ask  whether  the  millions  of  people  who  to-day 
love  wild  nature  have  no  rights  which  deserve  respect,  and 
whether  the  same  sordid  spirit  which  placards  the  beautiful 
country,  particularly  along  the  railways,  with  its  hateful  bill- 
boards about  whiskies,  worthless  pills,  and  the  like  —  I  for 
one  make  it  a  principle  to  boycott  all  firms  that  so  advertise 
—  is  to  ride  rough-shod  over  us  at  the  decree  of  a  barbarous 
fashion  that  commands  us  to  revert  to  the  scalps  and  trophies 
of  savagery,  even  though  it  devastate  and  destroy  the  beauty 
of  God's  wonderful  world.  Theodore  Roosevelt  has  written  : 

"  Spring  would  not  be  spring  without  bird-songs  any  more 


THE   EGRET 


149 


than  .  .  .  without  buds  and  flowers,  and  I  only  wish  that 
besides  protecting  the  songsters  ...  we  could  also  protect 
the  birds  of  the  seashore  and  of  the  wilderness.  .  .  .  The  loss 
of  the  wild  pigeon  and  Carolina  paroquet  has  meant  a  loss  as 
severe  as  if  the  Catskills  or  the  Palisades  were  taken  away. 
When  I  hear  of  the  destruction  of  a  species,  I  feel  as  if  all  the 
works  of  some  great  writer  had  perished.  .  .  .  Half,  and 
more  than  half,  the  beauty  of  the  woods  and  fields  is  gone 
when  they  lose  the  harmless  wild  things.  .  .  .  They  add 
immeasurably  to  the  wholesome  beauty  of  life." 


YOUNG  EGRETS  NEARLY  FLEDGED 


Part  III 


\ 


Presently  they  heard  the  soldiers  shouting, 

"  The  sea,  the  sea  /  "  — 
A  nd  cheering  on  one  another. 

XENOPHON. 

The  sea,  the  sea,  the  open  sea, 
The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free. 

CORNWALL. 


GANNETS    LEAVING   NORTH    BIRD    ROCK 

CHAPTER    IX  *• 

TO  BIRD  ROCK  IN  AN  OPEN  BOAT 

Come  on,  sir  ;  here's  the  place :  standstill.   How  fearful 
And  dizzy  'tis  to  cast  one's  eyes  so  low. 

SHAKESPEARE,  "  King  Lear." 

ONE  short  experience  of  such  a  miracle  of  nature  as 
Bird  Rock  is  as  tantalizing  as  a  glimpse  into  Para- 
dise. Ever  since  the  famous  rock,  with  its  beetling 
cliffs  and  whirring  multitude  of  sea-fowl,  faded  from  my  sight 
four  years  ago  on  that  dark  evening,  angry  with  the  threat 
of  storm,  it  has  periodically  risen  before  my  imagination. 
Again  I  could  seem  to  hear  the  crash  of  the  surf  against  the 
cliffs,  the  varied  voices  of  the  birds  forming  with  it  a  grander 
symphony  than  any  human  orchestra  could  play.  It  was  only 
a  question  of  time  when  I  must  return,  especially  as  there  was 
another  and  impelling  motive  to  enforce  this  desire.  Since 


154  WILD   WINGS 

my  previous  visit  I  had  secured  a  photographic  equipment 
of  rapid  lens  and  shutter  suited  for  picturing  birds  in  flight. 
The  thoughts  of  the  results  obtainable  with  such  an  instru- 
ment by  a  practised  hand  upon  these  ledges  crowded  with 
sea-birds  was  enough  to  keep  an  enthusiast  awake  at  night. 
Previously  published  pictures  showed  the  birds  mainly  in 
repose.  Now  one  might  hope  to  portray  them  in  all  their 
wild  activities. 

Hence  it  came  about  that  a  party  of  four  reached  the 
Magdalen  Islands  on  the  seventeenth  of  last  June,  and  took 
up  quarters  upon  Grosse  Isle,  to  make  some  researches  there 
among  the  northern  birds,  and  to  go  to  the  Rock  upon  the 
first  favorable  opportunity.  It  was  a  promising  beginning  that 
within  half  an  hour  of  landing  I  found  a  nest  of  the  beautiful 
Fox  Sparrow  containing  four  heavily  marked  eggs.  Close 
upon  this  followed  from  day  to  day  discoveries  of  nests  of 
interesting  shore-birds,  ducks,  and  other  birds  of  water  and 
land.  Yet  Bird  Rock  was  our  Mecca.  From  the  great  head- 
lands we  could  see  it  on  clear  days  grimly  towering  far  out 
to  sea,  and  at  night  watch  the  mocking  twinkle  of  its  light 
—  elusive  and  baffling  indeed,  for  we  were  stranded.  The 
large  schooner  we  had  hoped  to  engage  had  gone  off  on 
a  protracted  voyage,  and  there  was  no  other.  A  small  tug 
that  had  recently  come  to  Grand  Entry  had  broken  down 
and  was  unseaworthy. 

Either  we  must  give  up  our  cherished  project  or  go  in 
some  small  open  fishing-boat,  if,  indeed,  we  could  find  a  man 
who  dared  attempt  it.  Fishermen  shook  their  heads.  The 
Rock  lies  out  toward  Newfoundland  and  Labrador  twenty- 
two  miles  as  the  murre  flies  from  Grosse  Isle.  There  is  only 
one  possible  landing-place  under  the  tremendous  cliffs,  a  pile 
of  jagged  rocks  which  have  fallen  down  on  one  part  of  the 
west  side,  upon  which,  as  against  the  cliffs  themselves,  the 


TO   BIRD   ROCK   IN   AN   OPEN   BOAT        155 

surf  beats  almost  ceaselessly.  For  weeks,  oftentimes,  there 
is  no  interval  when  it  is  possible  either  to  land  or  to  launch  a 
boat.  Much  of  the  time  the  lonely  crag  is  shut  in  by  the  gray 
walls  of  the  fog  ;  even  more  often  does  the  wind  heap  up  the 


"THE  FAMOUS  ROCK,  WITH  ITS  BEETLING  CLIFFS  AND  WHIRRING  MULTITUDE" 

forbidding  surf.  Arrive  off  the  Rock  in  a  sea-going  vessel, 
and  you  may  have  to  "  lie  off"  for  days  before  a  landing  can 
be  made.  Reach  it  in  an  open  boat  and  find  it  impossible  to 
land,  and  there  is  no  telling  what  might  occur.  Let  the  wind 
breeze  up  strong,  contrary  for  a  return  to  shelter,  and  where 
would  one  be  ?  Let  the  ever-ready  fog  shut  down,  and  what 
assurance  is  there  of  finding  that  atom  amid  the  great  waters, 
or  even  of  returning  to  the  Magdalen  Islands  ? 

Several  parties  before  us  had  tried  conclusions  in  an  open 


156  WILD  WINGS 

boat,  and,  as  far  as  we  could  learn,  none  had  succeeded  in 
the  attempt.  One,  I  think,  had  been  unable  to  land  ;  another 
had  missed  the  Rock  in  the  fog ;  another  had  been  even 
worse  lost,  had  tossed  about  on  a  cold,  angry  sea  for  an 
indefinite  period,  with  one  of  the  men  sick  and  nearly  dying 
from  fright  and  exposure.  It  was  not  an  alluring  prospect, 
and,  to  be  honest,  we  rather  shrank  from  it.  Yet  we  did 
badly  want  to  get  to  Bird  Rock,  especially  after  coming  so  far. 

Now  there  was  at  Grosse  Isle  a  certain  young  fisherman  of 
twenty-four  —  I  will  not  say  summers,  but  winters,  Magdalen 
Island  winters  at  that,  with  their  long  months  of  below  zero 
temperatures  and  silence  of  frozen  death.  These  winters,  in 
their  rough  way,  had  dealt  kindly  with  the  youth,  and  had 
fashioned  him  into  as  hardy,  muscular,  and  daring  a  type  of 
manhood  as  it  is  often  one's  fortune  to  see.  The  turbulent 
sea  had  no  terrors  for  him,  as  he  hauled  his  lobster-traps  in 
the  gale  of  wind  and  at  off  times  helped  to  smuggle  over 
valuable  cargoes  of  French  wines  and  liquors  from  St.  Pierre. 
He  was  the  man  who  volunteered  to  sail  us  over  in  his 
seventeen-foot  open  lobster  boat  any  day  when  there  was 
any  sort  of  a  chance.  So  we  cheered  up  and  lived  in  hope. 

Our  plans  gave  us  but  ten  precious  days.  Half  of  them 
passed,  unfavorable.  At  first  the  sea  was  rough  after  a  pre- 
vious gale.  Then  set  in  a  cold,  blustering  norther,  when  we 
had  to  run  and  beat  our  hands  to  keep  warm,  in  our  winter 
clothes  at  that.  Next  followed  a  southeast  blow,  rainstorm, 
and  fog.  The  sixth  day  was  clear,  but  the  sea  was  rough. 
Time  was  now  alarmingly  short,  and  we  were  becoming 
anxious.  We  spent  the  morning  in  the  spruce  woods,  and 
noticed  that  the  wind  was  moderating.  At  eleven  came  a  boy 
with  a  message  from  our  bold  mariner.  He  would  sail  "for 
Bryon  Island  as  soon  as  we  could  get  ready,  and  thence  try 
for  Bird  Rock  next  morning.  Hurriedly  finishing  my  camera 


TO   BIRD   ROCK   IN   AN   OPEN   BOAT        157 

work  on  the  nest  and  eggs  of  a  Blackpoll  Warbler,  we  re- 
turned to  the  house,  ate  dinner,  packed  our  bags,  and  were 
off  at  two  o'clock  under  two  sprit-sails,  with  a  moderate,  fair 
wind.  Bryon  lies  twelve  miles  to  the  north,  and  Bird  Rock 
twelve  miles  farther  to  the  northeast. 


GANNETS   AND    MURRE    LEAVING    NESTS 
(One  of  the  Gannets  is  in  the  mottled  second-year  plumage) 

Every  hour,  as  we  proceeded,  the  heavy  ocean  swell  seemed 
to  go  down.  "  What  do  you  say,"  said  I  to  the  skipper,  "  to 
keeping  on  for  Bird  Rock  to-night  ?  "  "I  was  just  thinking 
of  that  myself,"  he  replied.  "  Suppose  we  land  on  Bryon  and 
look  over  on  the  north  side,  and,  if  the  surf  is  not  heavy,  try 
our  luck?"  At  five  o'clock  we  ran  into  a  cove  and  leaped 
out  upon  the  cobble-stones,  where  the  "  king  "  of  Bryon  Island 
gave  us  a  royal  reception.  Keeping  a  little  store,  he  sells 
supplies  to  the  few  fishermen  who  during  the  lobster  season 


I58  WILD  WINGS 

lease  land  from  him  and  pay  a  fee  for  the  fishing  privileges. 
He  is  monarch  of  all  he  surveys,  yet  glad  of  the  rare  glimpse 
of  strangers  from  the  great  and  distant  "  world,"  especially 
of  Americans,  to  whom  he  would  gladly  sell  his  big  island, 
with  its  fine  fishery  privileges  and  supposed  mineral  deposits, 
for  thirty  thousand  dollars.  In  the  half  hour  of  our  stay  he 
was  so  overwhelmingly  kind  that  I  shall  do  all  I  can  to  help 
him  advertise  his  wares. 

The  sea  was  fairly  quiet  upon  the  north  side,  and  the 
"  royal  "  advice  was  strongly  in  favor  of  starting  at  once  for 
Bird  Rock,  as  the  weather  indications  were  suggestive  of 
wind  and  plenty  of  it  before  long.  So  we  sailed  away,  with 
the  dying  breeze  following  gently,  directly  from  astern.  In 
an  hour  we  had  made  good  progress,  yet  Bird  Rock,  which 
we  could  see,  was  still  but  a  distant  haze,  and  it  was  already 
evening,  by  the  watch.  Oars  were  brought  out,  and  they  and 
our  backs  bent  to  the  task.  At  eight,  as  the  sun  sunk  below 
the  sea  to  the  northwest,  the  Rock  looked  near,  but  it  was 
half-past  nine,  under  the  last  fading  rays  of  the  day  and  the 
silvery  light  of  the  welcome  moon,  when  the  great  stately 
cliffs  at  last  towered  above  us,  and  the  sea-birds  screamed 
and  issued  forth  to  meet  us  in  the  clouds  of  ghostly  forms. 

Already  had  the  dynamite  bomb  crashed  in  welcome.  A 
form  hurried  down  the  ladder,  and  a  lantern  waved  from  the 
pile  of  rocks,  signalling  to  us  where  to  make  the  venture. 
Calm  as  was  the  sea  outside,  some  surf  was  rolling  in  upon 
the  ledges.  We  must  run  the  gauntlet  and  take  our  chances  ; 
there  could  be  no  backing  out  now.  So  on  we  went  to  our 
fate.  A  sudden  concussion  almost  threw  us  off  our  feet ;  we 
had  struck  a  submerged  rock.  Then  a  following  wave  picked 
us  up  and  hurled  us  against  the  pile.  We  all  leaped  out  and 
held  the  boat  against  the  undertow,  and  with  mighty  efforts, 
helped  by  succeeding  waves,  got  her  up  a  few  feet  farther. 


TO    BIRD    ROCK   IN   AN    OPEN    BOAT        161 

The  keeper  from  above  was  lowering  the  cable  by  the  steam 
winch.  Meanwhile  the  seas  were  battering  the  stern  and 
combing  over  on  deck,  rilling  her  with  water.  With  despera- 
tion we  were  all  scurrying  in  the  darkness  to  get  our  stuff  out 
before  it  would  be  soaked,  and  to  throw  overboard  the  rock 


GANNET    RETURNING    HOME 


ballast.  We  were  wet,  but  what  matter ;  everything  was  landed. 
No,  who  has  seen  my  carrying-case  and  plate-holders? 
Horrors !  One  of  the  party  is  fishing  them  out  of  the  water, 
and  emptying  out  the  brine  in  quarts.  Somehow  in  the  ex- 
citement they  have  been  left  in  the  stern,  and  the  surf  has 
done  the  rest.  Perhaps  it  is  all  up  with  my  photography ! 


i62  WILD  WINGS 

There  is  no  time  to  stop  to  grieve.  The  boat  will  be  stove 
to  pieces  soon.  Down  comes  the  wire  cable,  with  a  rope  to 
gird  under  the  boat.  A  dash  or  two  into  the  surf,  and  it  is 
done.  Now  hoist  away.  Slip  and  crash !  The  stern  goes 
bumping  over  the  rocks.  "  Hold  hard,  there ! "  United  yells 
convey  the  intelligence  up  above.  The  cable  slackens.  Again 
the  rope  is  secure  and  the  heavy  boat  goes  sailing,  as  she 
never  did  before,  up  into  the  darkness,  like  a  phantom-ship. 
They  swing  her  in  upon  a  ledge,  and  at  last  we  all  are  safe. 
We  release  the  rope,  the  cable  goes  up  and  returns  with  the 
crate,  into  which  we  put  our  baggage,  and  then  we  climb  the 
ladder  with  Keeper  Peter  Bourque,  who  has  come  down  to 
learn  who  has  arrived  and  to  welcome  whomever  it  may 
prove  to  be. 

Up  in  his  lofty  home,  by  his  warm  and  welcome  stove,  this 
twenty-third  of  June,  my  first  task  is  to  throw  out  all  my  wet 
plates  and  set  up  the  soaking  holders  to  dry,  while  I  renew 
my  friendship,  and  introduce  the  others  to  the  keeper,  his 
nephew,  and  two  young  lady  daughters.  They  are  all  radi- 
ant, for  since  the  fifth  of  the  previous  November,  when  the 
government  supply  boat  made  her  last  call,  they  have  seen 
no  other  human  beings  till  now,  save  some  fishermen  who 
landed  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  May.  All  that  terrible  winter 
they  were  frozen  in.  Navigation  was  closed.  There  was  no 
need  to  light  the  torch  for  mariners,  or  to  fire  the  bomb  sig- 
nals in  the  fog.  All  they  could  do  was  to  maintain  the  strug- 
gle for  existence.  The  ice  enclosed  them  in  November,  and 
granted  a  possible  release  not  until  the  middle  of  May.  Even 
now  they  had  received  no  letters  or  papers  since  November. 
With  his  glass  the  keeper  had  seen  us  before  we  had  come 
a  mile  from  Bryon,  and  all  hands  set  to  work  at  once  to  write 
letters,  knowing  that  so  small  a  craft  could  have  no  possible 
destination  beyond  Bird  Rock.  And  so,  with  tales  of  the 


TO   BIRD   ROCK  IN   AN   OPEN   BOAT        163 

herds  of  seals  which  in  thousands  had  been  forced  in  around 
the  Rock  during  March  by  the  jamming  ice-floes,  the  evening 
passed.  At  midnight  we  retired,  but  before  that  we  could 
hear  the  screaming  of  the  rising  wind.  The  gale  had  started 


PUFFINS    LEAVING   THE    ROCK 


in  again,  two  hours  after  we  reached  the  Rock.  Had  we  been 
only  a  little  later,  our  plight  would  have  been  something 
unpleasant  to  contemplate. 

The  night  was  short  indeed,  for  at  a  reasonably  early  hour 
I  was  out  among  the  birds.  It  was  a  magnificent  sight !  The 
wind  was  blustering  from  the  southwest,  the  sky  clear,  and 
the  sea  an  angry  array  of  white-caps,  with  surges  thundering 
against  the  cliffs,  and  our  landing-place  a  raging  caldron  of 
breakers.  But  the  birds  !  The  keeper's  belief  that  they  had 
increased  during  the  last  four  years  was  certainly  right.  The 


1 64  WILD  WINGS 

ledges  were  crowded,  the  air  was  full  of  them.  It  takes  a 
windy  day  to  show  Bird  Rock  at  its  best.  Then  the  birds  are 
constantly  in  motion,  apparently  from  the  very  love  of  flight. 
Those  that  must  incubate  do  so  for  but  a  few  moments,  and 
then  are  off  for  a  spin  and  circuit  out  over  the  water,  ere  they 
return  for  another  short  vigil. 

The  most  notable  increase,  I  think,  has  been  among  the 
Kittiwakes,  the  beautiful  pearly-mantled  white  gull  that  nests 
in  the  niches  of  the  cliffs.  Perhaps  they  are  now  the  most 
numerous  species.  About  equal  in  number  are  the  great 
Gannets,  the  largest  of  the  inhabitants.  Their  accustomed 
ledges  were  all  filled,  and  in  the  distance  I  could  see  that  the 
summits  of  the  three  parts  of  North  Bird  Rock,  three  quarters 
of  a  mile  away,  were  literally  white  with  them.  The  Murres 
probably  come  next,  and  have  more  than  held  their  own. 
The  Briinnich's  Murre  is  much  more  numerous  than  the 
"Common  "  kind.  As  before,  there  are  only  a  few  dozen  of  the 
"  Ringed  Murre "  type  or  phase,  of  uncertain  classification. 
The  Razor-billed  Auks  are  about  as  numerous  as  the  Murres 
and  have  certainly  multiplied,  but  the  Puffins  have  possibly 
decreased  slightly  in  numbers.  As  for  the  Petrels,  I  saw  and 
heard  nothing  of  them,  though  there  are  a  few  in  the  burrows. 

After  breakfast  I  filled  my  plate-holders,  now  dry,  though 
somewhat  warped  inside,  and  began  the  work.  I  had  a  ca- 
pacity of  thirty  plates  with  my  reflex  camera  and  of  two 
dozen  with  my  Century.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  former  was 
the  only  one  I  used.  When  the  thirty  plates  were  exposed, 
I  went  into  the  cellar,  which  I  had  darkened,  packed  away  the 
exposures,  filled  the  holders,  and  went  out  for  another  batch 
of  pictures.  The  wind  was  so  violent  that  it  was  practically 
impossible  to  do  any  tripod  work. 

During  the  morning  I  made  snap-shots  at  flying  birds,  and 
took  the  precaution  to  develop  two  plates  in  the  cellar,  thus 


TO   BIRD   ROCK   IN   AN   OPEN   BOAT        165 


KJTTIWAKES    ON    THEIR    NESTS 


assuring  myself  that  the  exposures  were  rightly  and  fully 
timed  in  giving  them  about  one  eight-hundredth  of  a  second. 
I  also  climbed  down  the  ladders  at  the  southeast  corner  and 
took  note  of  the  Murres  and  Razor-bills.  At  the  top  I  snapped 
at  birds  passing  a  fixed  point  off  some  projecting  rock,  or  as 
they  alighted  or  left,  as  well  as  at  passing  Gannets.  Murres 
and  Kittiwakes  nested  mostly  down  below.  The  afternoon 
was  devoted  to  descending  the  main  ladder  on  the  west  side, 
and  from  it  photographing  Kittiwakes  on  their  nests,  and 
then  clambering  around  and  up  toward  the  north,  where  there 
was  a  splendid  array  of  birds,  a  wonderful  sight. 


1 66 


WILD   WINGS 


PARTY   OF    RAZOR-BILLS,    ONE   SHOWING    PECULIAR    STRADDLING    ATTITUDE    IN    FLIGHT 

Late  in  the  day  one  of  my  friends  lost  his  big  reflex  camera 
down  the  cliff.  He  was  on  the  ladder,  when  the  snap  of  his 
strap  slipped  off  and  his  camera  went  ricochetting  down, 
smashing  to  fragments  on  the  rocks  below,  though  the  valu- 
able lens  was,  wonderfully,  quite  unharmed. 

Great  changes  have  been  made  at  this  western  landing- 
place.  Last  summer  fifty  workmen  were  employed  in  blast- 
ing out  a  cut  into  the  cliff,  so  that  there  will  be  a  stairway  of 
about  sixty  degrees  ascent.  As  yet  it  is  unfinished,  and  one 
has  to  climb  three  quarters  of  the  way  on  ladders.  There  is 
a  little  landing-jetty,  but  it  was  not  yet  built  far  enough  out, 
and  the  way  the  surf  was  dashing  over  it  made  one  doubt  its 
usefulness. 

Next  morning,  Saturday,  June  25,  the  wind  had  shifted  to 


TO   BIRD   ROCK   IN   AN   OPEN   BOAT        167 

the  northeast,  and  was  beating  down  the  sea.  It  was  moder- 
ate, and  very  few  birds  were  flying,  nearly  all  being  at  their 
nests.  We  took  the  opportunity,  after  working  at  various 
ledges,  when  the  swell  had  materially  lessened,  of  having 
a  dory  lowered  by  the  steam  winch  from  the  top  and  rowing 
over  to  North  Bird  Rock.  The  sea  was  breaking  upon  it  quite 
hard,  but  we  ran  the  gauntlet,  and  landed  safely  on  the  spit 
of  gravel.  Meanwhile  the  birds  were  flying  off  in  wild  confu- 
sion, the  Gannets  from  the  top  and  the  Kitti wakes  from  their 
nests  in  the  niches  of  the  cliff,  with  some  Murres  and  Razor- 
bills. We  gained  the  summits  of  each  of  the  main  sections 
by  scrambling  up  forty  feet  from  ledge  to  ledge,  aiding  each 
other  in  turn.  The  first  man  up,  as  he  raised  his  head  above 
the  summit,  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  Gannet,  which 
squawked  with  terror  and  launched  forth  in  flight  —  fortun- 
ately not  into  his  face.  The  whole  flat  area  of  both  parts  was 
covered  with  the  rude  seaweed  nests  of  the  Gannet,  each  with 
its  dirty-white  egg.  No  one  had  landed  this  year  to  rob  them, 
either  here  or  on  the  main  rock,  and  the  birds  were  having 


GANNETS    NESTING    ON    THE    TOP    OF    NORTH    BIRD    ROCK 


1 68  WILD   WINGS 

a  splendid  season.  A  group  of  half  a  dozen  Gannets  stuck 
devotedly  to  their  nests  and  allowed  us  to  photograph  them 
as  near  as  we  desired.  When  I  pushed  at  one  with  my  foot 
to  make  it  change  its  attitude,  it  merely  raised  its  head  and 
squawked  angrily.  Those  on  the  "  Pillar,"  the  isolated  crag 
out  in  the  water,  remained  peacefully  on  their  nests  while  we 
photographed  them. 

We  had  about  two  hours  on  the  Rock,  when  the  keeper 
fired  a  bomb  for  us  to  return,  as  the  barometer  was  falling 
and  the  wind  increasing.  After  dinner  I  changed  plates  again, 
and  three  of  us  were  then  lowered  down  in  the  crate  to 
photograph  Kittiwakes  and  Murres.  It  gives  a  somewhat 
uncanny  sensation  hanging  in  mid-air,  at  times  spinning 
around  like  a  top.  But  we  forget  that  in  gazing  at  the  Kitti- 
wakes peacefully  upon  their  nests,  or  launching  forth  and 
returning.  Usually  there  were  two  eggs  to  a  nest,  in  some 
cases  three,  or  only  one,  the  latter,  probably,  in  cases  where 
one  or  more  had  rolled  out.  A  few  nests  already  contained 
young.  The  Murres  shrank  back  bashfully  against  the  wall 
of  rock  under  our  interested  gaze  and  the  aiming  of  cameras. 
In  some  cases  the  birds  were  but  five  feet  from  us,  but  they 
had  become  accustomed  to  the  passage  of  the  crate. 

We  had  intended  to  remain  upon  Bird  Rock  one  more 
day.  But  late  in  the  afternoon  the  keeper  told  us  that  the 
barometer  was  still  falling  and  that  it  would  undoubtedly 
storm  the  next  day,  and  it  might  be  another  week  before  the 
sea  would  calm  down  again.  The  wind  was  fair ;  and  for  our 
good,  in  order  to  catch  our  steamer,  he  advised  us  to  start 
back  that  afternoon.  This  we  decided  to  do.  Before  that, 
I  again  climbed  by  a  ladder  halfway  down  the  cliff  at  the 
north  end,  and  crept  along  the  narrow  ledge  out  to  the  north- 
west corner,  where  I  exposed  my  remaining  plates  upon  the 
splendid  array  of  birds  on  the  ledges  spread  out  before  me,. 


TO   BIRD   ROCK   IN   AN   OPEN    BOAT        169 

and  at  flying  individuals  of  the  great  Bird  Rock  host,  which 
the  keeper  believed  numbered  ten  thousand. 

By  six  o'clock  we  were  ready  for  the  start.  The  crate, 
heaped  with  baggage,  was  lowered,  while  we,  after  hearty 
farewells,  climbed  down  the  ladders.  The  sea  was  wonder- 


BRUNNICH'S  MURRE  BY  ITS  EGG.   "SHRANK  BACK  BASHFULLY" 

fully  quiet,  for  Bird  Rock,  and  at  half-past  six  we  were  safely 
launched,  and  sailed  away,  exchanging  gunpowder  and  dyna- 
mite salutes  with  the  good  people  who  had  treated  us  so 
magnificently. 

It  is  splendid  that  the  fine  bird  colony  is  doing  so  well. 
The  keeper  has  orders  from  the  British  government  to  prevent 


i  yo  WILD   WINGS 

all  depredations  upon  the  birds.  Yet  he  ought  to  have  more 
done  for  him,  a  telephone  or  telegraph  to  the  Magdalens, 
and  more  calls  of  the  government  supply  boat.  Left  as  he 
is,  he  must  depend  largely  upon  casual  vessels,  and  he 
can  hardly  afford  to  prevent  the  visitors  from  egging  and 
shooting,  lest  they,  in  retaliation,  forego  their  favors. 

From  the  very  start  the  wind  began  to  die  down,  and 
before  long  it  was  flat  calm.  We  never  shall  forget  that 
night,  throughout  which,  taking  turns,  we  toiled  at  the  oars. 
Yet  it  was  grand.  The  aurora  borealis  flashed,  the  full  moon 
smiled  benignantly  upon  the  placid  ocean,  the  effects  of  its 
soft  light  being  wonderfully  varied  by  the  majestic  streamers 
of  clouds  which  sailed  across  its  face.  As  we  approached  the 
Magdalens,  a  Petrel  fluttered  close  round  us  several  times 
like  a  bat,  and  a  party  of  Loons  uttered  their  long-drawn, 
wailing  screams.  At  two  A.  M.  the  dawn  was  evident,  and  at 
half-past  two,  in  the  broad  daylight,  we  beached  our  craft 
at  Grosse  Isle,  the  skipper  firing  salutes  with  his  gun  to  wake 
up  the  fishermen  to  help  haul  up  the  boat.  And  then  it  was 
that  he  wittily  bestowed  upon  the  company,  in  the  name  of 
the  great  Magdalen  University  of  the  northern  seas,  the 
honorary  degree  of  "  S.S.D.," — sad  sea  dog,  —  which  is 
to  be  granted  only  to  those  who  successfully  make  the  trip  to 
Bird  Rock  in  an  open  boat. 

Arousing  the  family,  sore  and  weary,  we  took  to  our  beds, 
and  slept  till  nearly  noon,  awaking  to  find  that  the  expected 
easterly  storm  had  set  in,  and  the  shore  was  white  with  break- 
ers. Once  more  we  had  been  just  in  time.  And  yet,  though 
fortune  did  favor  us  by  a  scant  margin,  we  are  not  advising 
others,  if  they  can  possibly  charter  a  sea-going  vessel,  to 
attempt  the  trip  to  Bird  Rock  in  an  open  boat. ' 


PAIR   OF   HERRING   GULLS.    "  ALLOWED   ME   TO   APPROACH  " 

CHAPTER  X 

AMID    NORTHERN    SPRUCES    AND    SEA-GIRT    ROCKS 

Deep  from  its  rocky  caverns,  the  deep-voiced  neighboring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the  wail  of  the  forest. 

LONGFELLOW. 

WHENEVER,  in  making  a  camera-hunting  trip  to 
the  north,  I  begin  to  see  the  spruces  and  balsams 
with  their  pointed  tops,  I  seem  to  enter  a  special 
sort  of  holiday  atmosphere.  The  landscape  is  full  of  "  Christ- 
mas-trees."   They  are  characteristic  of  the  north,  and  I  am 
conscious  of  being  in  a  northern  latitude.  The  air  feels  colder, 
whether  it  really  is  so  or  not.    Indeed,  I  can  almost  imagine 
that  the  branches  of  the  trees  are  laden  down  with  snow,  and 
that  it  is  the  Christmas  season.    I  associate  these  trees,  too, 
with  the  dearly  loved  mysteries  of  the  migratory  northern 


1 72  WILD   WINGS 

birds  —  rare  and  beautiful  warblers,  thrushes,  and  finches  — 
which  nest  in  the  fastnesses  of  their  densely  tangled  needle- 
foliage.  Coastwise,  I  associate  them  with  wave-lashed  cliffs 
or  island  shores  strewn  with  stones  and  boulders,  where  sea- 
birds  congregate.  So  spruces  or  balsams,  rocks,  waves,  and 
sea-fowl,  all  fit  harmoniously  into  the  scenes  which  I  shall 
proceed  to  describe. 

Away  off  the  southeastern  coast  of  Nova  Scotia,  about 
twenty  miles  out  to  sea,  lies  Seal  Island,  an  ideal  place  of  the 
sort  I  have  in  mind.  It  is  three  miles  long,  densely  overgrown 
with  spruces,  which  shelter  many  interesting  northern  birds. 
Flocks  of  Crossbills,  roaming  through  them,  would  make  one 
think  it  was  suddenly  winter,  and  a  cold  one  at  that.  This 
island  forest  is  a  great  resort  for  the  Bicknell's  Thrush,  a  bird 
rather  hard,  ordinarily,  to  find  and  study.  All  through  these 
woods,  as  well  as  in  open  places,  the  singular  Leach's  Petrels 
—  one  of  several  species  called  by  sailors  "Mother  Carey's 
Chickens  "  —  dig  their  rat-holes  of  burrows,  and  each  female 
lays  a  single  white  egg.  The  great  white  Herring  Gulls  have 
from  time  immemorial  nested  there  in  thousands,  with  hun- 
dreds of  the  Common  and  Arctic  Terns.  Most  of  the  shores 
are  sandy,  but  some  of  them  are  heaped  up  with  cobble- 
stones and  boulders  of  all  sizes  and  shapes,  rounded  by 
the  mighty  power  of  the  waves.  Among  these,  hundreds 
of  the  Black  Guillemots  —  also  called  Sea  Pigeons,  or  Sea 
Widgeons  —  lay  their  eggs,  with  a  few  Puffins.  The  island 
is  owned  by  Mr.  John  Crowell,  all  except  for  the  government 
station  on  which  the  lighthouse  stands,  of  which  he  is  keeper. 
A  very  few  fishermen  are  also  there,  most  of  them  only 
during  the  fishing  season.  They  come  and  go  in  small  sail- 
boats, and  there  is  no  communication,  save  casually,  with  the 
outside  world. 

Some  years  ago  I  stopped  on  the  island  over  one  night, 


AMID   SPRUCES  AND   SEA-GIRT   ROCKS     173 

and  saw  enough  to  rouse  a  strong  desire  for  a  longer  stay. 
Various  plans  to  repeat  the  trip  had  fallen  through.  But 
now,  as  a  party  of  us  were  returning  from  the  Magdalen 
Islands,  the  time  seemed  opportune.  So,  before  crossing  by 
steamer  from  Yarmouth,  Nova  Scotia,  to  Boston,  we  branched 
off  on  a  new  railroad,  completed  only  as  far  as  Barrington, 
on  the  way  to  Halifax.  None  of  the  station-agents  in  the 
northern  part  of  the  Province  knew  the  name  of  this  road,  or, 
indeed,  of  its  existence,  and  our  plans  were  long  in  delight- 
ful uncertainty.  Fortunately  there  was  a  connecting  train ; 
and  the  night  of  the  last  day  of  June  found  us  at  Barrington 
Passage,  ready  to  be  sailed  across  to  Seal  Island. 

Though  a  Nova  Scotia  fog  prevailed  that  night,  we  were 
not  worried  about  reaching  the  island.  We  had  just  been  to 
Bird  Rock,  far  more  inaccessible,  in  an  open  boat,  and  this 
trip  seemed  like  small  game  in  comparison.  So  we  con- 
fidently engaged  a  skipper  and  sail-boat,  and  slept  the  sleep 
of  the  just.  Yet  that  twenty-mile  stretch  of  ocean  between 
Cape  Sable  and  Seal  Island  is  as  rough  and  dangerous  an 
area  as  can  well  be  found,  with  its  powerful  currents,  tide- 
rips,  cross-seas,  and  sunken  reefs.  To  traverse  it  even  in  fair 
weather  is  no  boy's  play,  and  much  less  now  when  we  arose 
and  found  weather  conditions  of  thick  fog,  rain-squalls,  and 
a  heavy  wind  from  the  southwest,  directly  ahead.  Our  skipper 
confessed  his  inability  to  get  us  to  the  island  in  his  little 
cockle-shell,  and  suggested  that  we  try  to  engage  some 
larger  craft.  We  spent  half  the  day  trying  to  bribe  various 
owners  to  undertake  it  by  sail  or  steam,  then  gave  it  up,  and 
explored  the  wet  and  dense  spruce  woods.  The  following 
day  was  just  as  bad,  with  no  sign  of  fog  or  wind  letting  up. 
No  one  would  start,  and  we  began  to  feel  rather  blue,  when 
by  great  good  fortune  we  met  a  man  who  was  part  owner  of 
a  wrecking-steamer  which  had  recently  put  into  a  neighbor- 


174  WILD  WINGS 

ing  port.  For  a  comparatively  moderate  consideration  he 
offered  to  take  us  across  that  afternoon. 

In  due  time  we  found  ourselves  out  in  the  dense  fog,  the 
steamer  rolling  her  rails  under  as  the  great  ocean  swells 
hurled  themselves  against  her.  It  was  no  wonder  that  the 
fishermen  did  not  care  to  attempt  it.  Now  and  then  a  Sooty 
Shearwater,  wild  wanderer  from  the  Antarctic  Ocean,  on 
long,  narrow  wings  would  come  sweeping  along  the  trough 
of  the  sea  and  then  go  scaling  over  the  crests  to  windward. 
While  man  may  be  struggling  and  drowning,  they  are  merry 
and  fearless.  But  now,  though  we  did  roll  heavily,  we  were 
climbing  the  old  seas  offshore  at  a  steady  pace,  and  every 
foot  was  so  much  nearer  Seal  Island.  Sails  are  pretty,  but 
when  for  days  one  has  been  baffled  and  beaten,  he  believes 
in  steam. 

At  length  the  fog  began  to  lift,  which,  with  the  lessening  of 
the  swell,  indicated  an  approach  to  land.  Then  the  long-lost 
sun  beamed  out  over  the  tossing  water,  and  Seal  Island  began 
to  emerge  from  the  mist.  Soon  we  could  clearly  see  its  spec- 
tacle-shaped form,  the  two  lobes  with  their  dense  spruces  and 
rocky  shores,  and  the  connecting  bridge  of  sand.  From  the 
thick  forest  of  the  southern  lobe  stood  out  the  white  light- 
house tower,  and  above  the  dark  foliage  of  both  the  white 
Herring  Gulls  were  hovering,  in  beautiful  contrast.  We  were 
approaching  the  eastern  side,  which  was  under  the  lee,  so  the 
sea  was  not  rough.  Coming  to  anchor,  we  were  set  ashore  in 
a  dory  on  a  conveniently  built  slip  in  the  cove,  and  were  soon 
enjoying  the  bountiful  fare  and  hospitality  of  the  owner  of 
the  island  and  his  family.  For  several  days,  now,  the  weather 
was,  for  the  most  part,  fair,  and  I  was  able  to  spend  the 
whole  time  in  studying  and  photographing  the  birds. 

Our  nearest  neighbors  were  the  Black  Guillemots.  Back 
from  the  house,  a  short  road  led  down  through  the  spruces 


AMID   SPRUCES  AND   SEA-GIRT   ROCKS     177 

to  the  steam  foghorn  building,  located  just  up  from  a  very 
rough,  rocky  shore.  This  is  a  cobble-stone  beach,  composed 
of  rocks  rounded  by  the  action  of  the  waves,  varying  from 
the  size  of  a  man's  head  to  that  of  a  haystack.  Resting  upon 
the  tops  of  the  larger  ones  were  groups  of  these  curious  birds, 
about  the  size  of  small  ducks,  enjoying  the  sunshine.  Their 
plumage  is  entirely  black,  except  for  a  large  oval  patch  of 
white  on  each  wing,  which  shows  very  conspicuously  whether 
they  are  sitting  or  flying.  Other  parties  of  them  are  out  on 
the  water,  a  few  rods  offshore.  They  ride  easily  on  the 
swells,  which,  after  passing  them,  break  as  surf  upon  the 
rocks.  Their  food  is  fish,  which  they  secure  by  diving.  One 
by  one  they  plunge  and  disappear,  remaining  under  water 
for  as  much  as  a  minute  at  a  time.  No  doubt  they  improve 
these  moments  of  submersion,  for  they  appear  well-fed  and 
plump  enough.  After  a  spell  at  fishing  or  playing  about 
in  the  water,  they  will  start  to  fly,  sometimes  singly,  some- 
times the  whole  party  at  once.  Their  wings  beat  very  rapidly 
and  they  pass  the  rock  almost  like  bullets,  their  bright  car- 
mine feet  and  legs  dangling  conspicuously  behind.  Often, 
when  I  sat  quietly  among  the  rocks  watching  them,  they 
would  alight  one  after  the  other  upon  some  boulder  quite 
close  to  me,  and  then  step  about,  turning  this  way  and  that 
to  look  me  all  over,  not  so  much  in  fear  as  in  curiosity. 
Their  legs  are  set  so  far  behind  them  that  they  walk  almost 
erect,  like  penguins  or  murres.  When  they  have  satisfied 
themselves,  they  squat  or  lie  down,  others  coming  to  join 
them  from  time  to  time,  till  there  are  a  dozen  or  more  in 
the  party. 

No  one  would  call  them  communicative.  The  only  sound 
they  make  is  a  shrill,  rather  faint  whistle,  which  is  not  aud- 
ible at  any  great  distance.  Perhaps  they  make  up  for  this 
comparative  muteness  by  their  varied  and  expressive  gestures. 


1 78  WILD   WINGS 

In  this  way  the  little  black  imps  strike  one  as  comical,  quaint, 
almost  pompous.  Especially  when  they  make  love,  it  is  worth 
a  great  deal  to  watch  a  couple  facing  each  other,  sidling 
about,  the  male  —  probably  it  is  —  going  through  a  series  of 
dignified  bowings  and  attempted  caresses,  until  one  might 
well  laugh  aloud  and  frighten  the  performers. 


BLACK   GUILLEMOTS.     "  CURIOSITY    SEEMS   TO    BE    ONE    OF   THEIR    MOST 
STRIKING    CHARACTERISTICS  " 

Curiosity  seems  to  be  one  of  their  most  striking  character- 
istics. Naturally  rather  timid,  they  will  usually  fly  before  one 
can  walk  up  boldly  very  near  them.  But  what  a  great  differ- 
ence it  will  make  if  one  tries  to  sneak  up  behind  the  rocks ! 
An  occasional  glimpse,  though  it  reveals  the  presence  of  the 
intruder,  does  not  really  alarm  them.  They  do  so  wonder 
what  he  is  up  to,  what  sort  of  a  body  is  beneath  that  bobbing 
head,  perhaps  what  sort  of  shoes  he  wears,  that  they  forget 
all  about  flight.  When  very  near,  he  can  gradually  and 


AMID   SPRUCES  AND   SEA-GIRT   ROCKS     179 

deliberately  rise  into  sight,  looking  into  the  hood  of  his 
camera,  and  snap  them  as  they  hesitate.  Then,  sinking  down 
quietly,  he  can  change  the  plate  behind  the  rocks,  and  have 
another  shot  if  he  will,  perhaps  this  time  advancing  a  few 
steps  nearer,  until  they  begin  to  get  uneasy.  He  must  stop 
then  for  a  moment,  and  they  will  recover  confidence,  and 
let  him  come  still  nearer.  In  this  way  I  easily  secured  all 
the  pictures  I  wanted.  They  are,  on  the  whole,  sociable  little 
fellows,  yet  I  could  not  but  wonder  how  they  enjoyed  that 
terrible  foghorn  which  roars  away  twice  a  minute,  day  and 
night,  whenever  foggy  weather  prevails,  and  kept  me  awake 
all  one  night. 

Most  of  these  birds  on  the  rocks,  presumably,  are  the  males, 
though  they,  indeed,  take  their  turn  upon  the  eggs.  Under 
our  very  feet  their  wives  may  be  brooding  each  her  beauti- 
fully marked  twin  eggs.  Nesting  is  a  very  simple  process. 
All  the  preparation  needed  is  to  crawl  in  between  and  under 
the  rocks,  perhaps  down  through  several  layers,  and  select 
a  spot  where  there  is  a  little  gravel  washed  in,  upon  which 
the  eggs  will  be  laid.  Sometimes  the  sitting  bird,  upon  hear- 
ing the  approach  of  an  intruder,  flies  out,  and  he  can  mark 
the  spot  where  her  nest  is.  But  just  as  often,  especially  when 
the  eggs  are  well  hidden,  she  will  remain  upon  them,  refusing 
to  come  out  for  anything  that  may  be  done.  A  good  way  to 
find  nests  is  to  follow  Keeper  CrowelFs  dog.  He  cannot 
detect  eggs  beneath  him,  but  he  can  infallibly  scent  the  bird 
when  she  is  upon  the  nest,  and  will  gaze  down  the  crevice 
intently,  whining  and  wagging  his  tail. 

It  is  possible  to  photograph  the  strange  bird  upon  or  by 
her  eggs.  Realizing  that  she  is  cornered,  she  will  not  attempt 
to  fly  out.  So  we  manage  to  pry  or  roll  away  the  rocks  one 
by  one,  and  presently  we  see  her  squatting  down  in  the  dark 
hole.  When  it  is  opened  to  the  light,  the  bird  may  shrink 


i8o  WILD   WINGS 

from  the  eggs,  or  try  to  crawl  back  farther  among  the 
rocks,  but  we  can  probably  catch  her  and  replace  her.  A  long 
timed  exposure  is  necessary,  so  the  camera  is  set  upon  the 


BLACK  GUILLEMOT  OVER  HER  EGGS 


tripod  and  focused  on  the  bird.  The  greatest  difficulty  is 
that  she  is  apt  to  turn  her  head  at  the  critical  moment.  One 
may  spoil  a  plate  or  two,  but  a  few  exposures  of  from  five  to 
ten  seconds  will  probably  give  some  good  negatives.  Look 
out  for  accidents :  a  rock  may  suddenly  slide  and  roll ;  the 
camera  may  slip  and  fall  on  its  face  on  rocks  that  are  not 
soft ;  the  bird  may  make  a  sudden  exit,  and  the  photographer 
must  be  ever  ready  to  seize  her,  without  wrecking  his  appara- 
tus. Once  my  anastigmat  lens,  pointed  nearly  straight  down, 


AMID   SPRUCES   AND   SEA-GIRT   ROCKS     181 

fell  out  upon  the  rocks,  and  it  was  a  mere  chance  it  was  not 
ruined. 

By  far  the  most  abundant  bird  on  the  island  is  the  Herring 
Gull,  the  common  large  white  scavenger  of  our  harbors  in 
the  winter  season.  They  nest  in  scattered  colonies  all  over 
the  island,  mostly  in  the  woods  or  openings  in  them,  also  in 
tracts  of  " stump  land"  along  the  shore,  where  the  woods 
have  been  cut  off. 

The  largest  of  these  colonies  is  in  the  midst  of  the  woods 
on  the  northern  lobe  of  the  island,  and  it  was  the  first  one  we 
visited.  After  a  two-mile  walk  along  the  shore,  we  struck  in 
by  a  sheep-path  through  the  thick  spruces.  Soon  we  began 
to  hear  the  screams  and  cacklings  of  the  gulls  and  to  see  the 
great  white  fellows  flying  over  the  trees  above  us.  Now  and 
then  we  passed  a  bulky  nest  of  sticks,  grass,  and  seaweed  in 
the  thick  top  of  a  tree,  whither  persecution  often  drives  these 
otherwise  ground-nesting  birds.  Presently  we  emerged  into 
a  partially  open  area  where  the  trees  were  scattering.  Several 
hundred  gulls  were  flying  about  excitedly,  making  a  great 
racket.  Their  nests  were  scattered  about  on  the  ground, 
usually  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  or  under  a  young  spruce.  Two 
or  three  large,  drab-colored  eggs,  spotted  with  black,  are  the 
usual  laying,  but  many  of  the  nests  were  empty.  Fishermen 
had  recently  landed  and  robbed  them. 

On  the  previous  visit  the  gulls  had  boldly  circled  about 
close  over  one's  head.  Since  then  they  have  been  robbed 
and  shot  until  they  are  now  nearly  as  shy  as  hawks.  Indeed, 
in  the  first  colony  visited,  I  could  not  get  near  enough  to 
a  gull  to  secure  a  single  satisfactory  photograph,  and  I  felt 
pretty  well  disheartened,  especially  after  making  such  an 
effort  to  reach  the  island. 

Retracing  our  steps,  we  followed  the  shore  along  the 
northern  end.  Groups  of  seals,  or  single  ones,  basked  upon 


182  WILD   WINGS 

the  rocks  that  stood  out  of  the  water.  Pairs  or  groups  of 
Eider  Ducks  were  swimming  here  and  there  not  far  off  the 
rock-strewn  shore,  the  white-backed  males  very  distinguished 


HERRING    GULL    LEAVING    THE    DEAD   TREE 


in  appearance,  compared  with  their  sombre  brown  mates. 
This  was  their  nesting-time.  The  female  crawls  up  from  the 
shore  into  the  thick  of  the  small  spruces,  and  beneath  the 
tangle  deposits  from  five  to  eight  large,  smooth,  yellowish 
eggs,  surrounding  them  with  a  profusion  of  down  plucked 


AMID   SPRUCES   AND   SEA-GIRT   ROCKS     183 

from  her  own  breast.  On  so  large  an  island  the  nests  are 
very  hard  to  find.  We  spent  a  long  time  beating  the  bushes 
with  clubs,  hoping  that  some  sitting  bird  would  dash  out  in 
sudden  fright.  The  main  chance  was  that  the  dog  would 
scent  one,  but  the  animal  was  old,  and  tired  from  an  early 
hunt  on  his  own  hook,  and  he  took  but  a  listless  interest  in 
the  search,  which  was  not  successful. 

After  lunching  by  a  spring-hole,  stared  at  meanwhile  by 
a  band  of  the  numerous  sheep  that  graze  at  large  upon  the 
island,  we  went  on  and  came  to  another  gull  colony  just  back 
from  the  shore.  Rambling  off  from  the  rest  of  the  party, 
I  found  the  birds  less  wary.  So  I  let  them  leave  me  and  go 
on,  and  presently,  sitting  in  a  clump  of  low  bushes,  I  had  the 
gulls  flying  over  me  comparatively  near,  and  secured  all  the 
snap-shots  I  needed.  They  were  settling  down  upon  the  trees 
near  by,  and  some  of  the  beautiful  creatures,  conspicuous 
upon  the  dark  foliage,  allowed  me  to  approach  and  take  pic- 
tures of  them.  A  good  way  was  to  sit  down  behind  a  bush 
near  a  clump  of  spruces  where  they  alighted  by  their  nests, 
and  snap  them  in  the  act  of  alighting  or  flying  off.  One  bird 
constantly  returned  to  a  dead  tree,  and  would  allow  me  to 
walk  up  boldly  within  ten  yards  and  photograph  it.  Thus  I 
finally  secured  a  series  of  pictures,  though  not  nearly  as  satis- 
factory as  could  be  obtained  in  some  of  our  Maine  colonies  so 
zealously  protected  through  the  noble  efforts  of  our  apostle 
of  bird-liberty,  Mr.  William  Dutcher,  and  others  like  him. 

This  island  is  a  great  breeding  resort  of  the  Leach's  Petrel, 
or  Mother  Carey's  Chicken.  Not  one  is  visible  by  day,  yet 
the  woods  and  pastures  by  the  shores  are  fairly  honeycombed 
with  their  burrows.  All  we  have  to  do,  whenever  the  notion 
strikes  us  to  examine  one,  is  to  pull  up  the  light  mouldy  soil, 
starting  at  the  entrance.  A  couple  of  feet  along,  just  below 
the  surface,  the  tunnel  ends  in  a  little  chamber,  and  there  sits 


i84  WILD   WINGS 

the  little  dusky,  swallow-like  bird,  with  a  white  rump  and 
webbed  feet,  upon  a  single  white  egg.  When  handled  they 
always  vomit  up,  or  eject  from  their  nostrils,  a  mass  of  strong- 
smelling,  yellow  oil.  Poor  birds !  every  carnivorous  animal 
preys  upon  them.  Stray  cats  are  here  fat  and  flourishing,  and 
I  have  often  noticed  the  dogs  chewing  up  a  poor  petrel. 
When  I  undertook  to  pose  and  photograph  one  that  I  had 
dug  up  for  that  purpose,  I  had  to  resign  myself  to  a  two 
hours'  struggle  with  a  ceaselessly  active  automaton  that  could 
do  nearly  everything  except  keep  still.  This  is  the  pent-up 
energy  that  serves  them  well  in  their  life  upon  the  bound- 
less deep,  when  for  months  they  never  approach  the  stable 
land. 

Here  and  there,  in  sandy  tracts  above  the  shores,  or  on  the 
stump  land,  are  small  colonies  of  terns,  both  the  Arctic 
and  Common  species,  I  think.  On  the  sand-bar  connecting 
the  lobes  of  the  island  there  is  a  colony  of  the  Arctic.  When 
I  was  crossing  it,  the  first  thing  I  knew,  one  of  the  hovering, 
angry  terns,  darting  down,  struck  me  a  stinging  blow  on 
the  top  of  my  head.  Elsewhere  they  are  usually  shyer,  and, 
delighted  by  this  exhibition  of  boldness,  I  returned  next 
day  with  my  reflex  camera.  It  must  have  been  amusing  to 
watch  me,  sitting  on  the  sand,  following  with  the  camera  the 
darting  birds,  one  or  another  of  which  would  land  with  a  thud, 
almost  momentarily,  on  my  devoted  head.  Now  and  then, 
after  a  swoop,  I  would  remove  my  felt  hat  to  see  if  they  had 
punctured  it. 

A  pair  or  two  of  Ravens  nest  in  the  spruces,  which,  with 
numerous  Crows,  help  to  destroy  the  eggs  and  young  of  the 
other  birds.  The  busy  little  Black-poll  Warbler  is  everywhere 
abundant  among  the  spruces.  Not  the  least  interesting  of  the 
Seal  Islanders  is  the  demure  little  grayish  brown  fellow,  with 
the  white  and  spotted  breast,  the  BicknelFs  Thrush.  We  meet 


AMID   SPRUCES   AND   SEA-GIRT   ROCKS     185 

them  everywhere  in  the  woods ;  they  stand  on  a  branch  in 
a  thrush-like  attitude  and  chirp,  then  flit  on  a  little  farther 
and  again  watch.  Their  nesting-time  was  now  past,  but  one 
of  the  party  found  a  nest  out  on  a  branch  of  a  spruce,  fifteen 
feet  from  the  ground.  It  was  deserted,  yet  in  perfect  order, 
and  held  one  blue  egg,  slightly  speckled  with  brown  around 
the  larger  end. 

Keeper  Crowell  and  his  family  are  ardent  protectors  of  the 
birds.  A  pretty,  well-educated  daughter  busies  herself  writing 
and  posting  notices  forbidding  people  to  shoot  or  rob  the 
birds.  But  it  is  a  losing  fight.  The  island  is  too  big  for  them 
to  watch.  The  fine  colonies  have  sadly  diminished,  and  there 
seems  to  be  no  adequate  law  to  protect  them,  unless  the 
keeper  takes  the  law  into  his  own  hands.  As  he  quaintly 
expresses  it,  when  the  vandals  row  around  the  shore  and 
shoot  the  defenceless  breeding  "  widgeons,"  or  Black  Guille- 
mots, some  day  he  will  start  out  and  get  his  share  of  the 
gunning,  and  the  boat  may  accidentally  get  in  range.  Once 
he  tried  this,  and  the  birds  were  not  troubled  again  for  a  long 
time.  The  New  Brunswick  laws  are  excellent  and  well  en- 
forced, and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  Nova  Scotia  people, 
kind  and  hospitable  as  I  have  always  found  them  to  be,  will 
come  to  the  rescue  of  this  fine  family  and  see  to  it  that  a  few 
ignorant  fishermen  are  kept  from  breaking  up  this  and  other 
great  sea-bird  colonies  in  the  Province,  and  driving  from  the 
coast  the  birds  which  are  most  useful  to  the  fishing  industry 
in  locating  the  schools  of  fish. 

Storm-bound  in  trying  to  reach  the  island,  we  were  now 
detained  upon  it  a  couple  of  days  by  a  protracted  calm, 
which  deterred  the  fishermen  from  setting  us  ashore.  After 
some  days,  in  desperation,  we  got  one  to  make  the  attempt, 
and  after  a  long  day  of  drifting  we  managed  to  reach  the 
mainland.  Seal  Island,  isolated  as  it  is  from  the  world,  seen 


1 86 


WILD   WINGS 


by  few  save  fishermen  and  from  vessels  doubling  the  south- 
eastern cape  of  Nova  Scotia,  beaten  by  wild  storms,  pictur- 
esque with  its  rocks,  spruces,  and  bird-life,  is  a  charming- 
little  world  by  itself,  amply  repaying  our  efforts  in  visiting 
it,  and  braving  the  raging  of  the  sea  and  the  discomforts  of 
fog  and  calm. 


LEACH'S  PETREL  REMOVED  FROM  ITS  BURROW 


GREATER    SHEARWATER   AND   WILSON'S    PETRELS 


CHAPTER  XI 


OFF   .CHATHAM    BARS 


Yet  he  ne'er  falters,  —  so,  petrel,  spring 
Once  more  o'er  the  -waves  on  thy  stormy  wing. 


CORNWALL. 


MY   very   first   successful    photographs  of   free  wild 
birds  were  of  "  ocean  wanderers,"  taken  out  here 
on   the  bounding  main   from   the    unstable  deck 
of  a  fishing-boat,  and  with  an  ordinary  little  camera.    That 
I  secured  any  such  results  at  that  callow  stage  of  my  expe- 
rience under  such  conditions  is  now  a  marvel  to  me,  after 
further  experience  of  the  difficulties,  even  with  a  complete 
modern  photographic  outfit.    I  must  attribute  it  to  consum- 
mate good  luck. 

Minded  to  have  another  "  try  "  at  the  birds  of  the  ocean, 


i88  WILD   WINGS 

I  found  myself  again  on  old  Cape  Cod  at  Chatham,  one  fine 
September  afternoon,  and  engaged  a  boat  for  the  next  morn- 
ing to  take  me  outside  the  bars.  The  day  proved  dark 
and  cloudy,  with  a  dead  calm,  so  it  was  useless  to  make  the 
attempt.  Next  day  we  were  enveloped  in  a  dense  fog.  The 
fishermen  find  that  with  fog  usually  comes  the  "  ground 
swell,"  and,  sure  enough,  next  morning  the  surf  was  moan- 
ing, breaking  heavily  on  the  bars  and  clear  across  the  mouth 
of  the  harbor.  Thus  day  after  day  passed,  and,  just  as  the 
weather  cleared  and  the  sea  quieted  down,  I  was  summoned 
home  by  telegraph. 

In  dealing  with  the  weather,  waves,  and  currents  of  such 
a  battle-ground  of  titanic  forces,  there  is  no  hurrying  of  mat- 
ters, without  exposing  one's  self  to  disaster.  There  was  a  time 
when  I  thought  the  fishermen  over-cautious,  but  I  learned 
my  lesson.  I  had  sailed  my  small  sloop  down  from  Boston, 
with  several  friends,  intending  to  run  in  to  Chatham.  At 
daybreak  we  were  off  Chatham  bars,  the  wind  blowing  hard 
offshore  from  the  northwest,  and  the  sea  breaking  mast-high 
clear  across  the  harbor  entrance.  It  was  too  rough  to  double 
Monomoy  Point  and  take  the  gale  on  "the  shoals,"  so  we 
cruised  back  and  forth  under  the  lee,  waiting  for  something 
to  turn  up.  To  be  caught  off  the  "  back-side  of  the  Cape  " 
in  a  small  craft  in  bad  weather,  with  no  chance  to  get  under 
shelter,  puts  one  in  a  not  altogether  enviable  position. 

Toward  evening  the  wind  moderated.  Although  the  surf 
was  still  bad,  at  length  we  saw  a  seine-boat  with  a  crew  of 
fishermen  dodge  out  among  the  breakers  to  try  for  a  school 
of  bluefish.  We  hailed  them,  and  they  agreed  to  pilot  us  in, 
so  all  boarded  the  yacht.  With  their  boat  in  tow,  one  of 
them  took  the  helm  and  headed  in  for  the  raging  caldron. 
After  a  big  wave  had  passed,  we  ran  round  the  point  of  the 
shoal  and  were  in  between  two  breakers.  How  we  were  to 


OFF   CHATHAM   BARS  189 

extricate  ourselves,  I  could  not  see.  I  supposed  they  knew; 
but  even  experts  miscalculate.  We  had  run  about  midway 
into  the  entrance  when  I  saw  coming  a  wave  that  fairly  ap- 
palled me.  The  fishermen  exchanged  anxious  glances,  and 
the  helmsman  swung  the  yacht  to  meet  it,  bowsprit  on,  while 
I  hurriedly  closed  the  hatchway.  I  can  never  forget  the 
ominous  look  of  that  wall  of  water  towering  above  me,  before 
it  struck.  It  was  green  and  sinister,  with  a  curling  crest  that 
rose  high  above  our  heads,  like  the  flowing  mane  of  a  war- 
horse.  Its  onward  rush  seemed  like  the  charge  of  a  troop  of 
cavalry.  All  we  could  do  was  to  cling  to  something  and  take 
it.  Then  it  fairly  buried  us.  The  yacht  lurched  violently,  but 
did  not  capsize.  The  next  thing  I  knew,  the  standing-room 
was  full  of  water,  the  deck  swept  of  all  movable  articles,  which 
were  floating  or  sinking  out  beyond  us,  and  the  seine-boat 
had  broken  away.  Fortunately  the  strong  tide  was  racing  in, 
which  carried  us  to  safety  before  the  next  comber  could  reach 
us.  Had  the  tide  been  the  other  way,  it  might  have  been 
much  more  serious  for  us.  So,  to  this  day,  when  I  am  tempted 
to  be  rash  to  secure  a  coveted  opportunity  with  sea-birds, 
a  vision  of  that  white-crested,  green  comber  rises  to  forbid. 

It  was  two  years  after  the  unsuccessful  attempt  mentioned 
on  the  preceding  page  before  I  was  able  to  try  again.  Another 
September  day  found  me  at  Chatham.  The  next  two  days 
the  bars  moaned  and  thundered,  but  on  the  third  came  the 
realization  of  the  great  event.  The  Chatham  cat-rig  plunged 
and  tossed  considerably,  but,  fortunately  for  my  water-fowl 
studies,  my  equilibrium  is  not  easily  upset.  Once  through  the 
line  of  breakers,  we  took  the  long,  even  swell,  and  soon  hove 
to  to  catch  some  dog-fish  for  livers  with  which  to  bait  up  birds. 
Of  late  years  the  cod  and  haddock  have  mostly  disappeared 
from  the  coast,  and  it  was  necessary  to  resort  to  this  degen- 
erate sort  of  fishing  to  secure  bait.  But  no  one  who  knows 


i9o  WILD   WINGS 

the  dog-fish  will  waste  any  pity.  This  is  a  small  species  of 
shark,  which  goes  about  in  schools,  snapping  at  fish  right  and 
left,  making  wholesale  destruction.  The  dog-fish  were  on 
hand  and  took  hold  with  their  usual  greed  and  ferocity.  In 
a  short  time  we  had  numbers  of  them  flopping  all  over  the 
standing-room,  each  trying  to  stab  us  with  its  sharp  abdom- 
inal spine.  It  took  many  heavy  blows  with  a  mallet  to  put 
them  out  of  commission  so  that  we  could  appropriate  their 
livers,  which  are  larger  than  those  of  most  fish  ! 

As  we  were  doing  this,  we  noticed  off  to  the  southward 
a  flock  of  terns  darting  down  and  plunging  excitedly  into  the 
water.  We  knew  what  it  meant,  and,  hauling  aft  the  sheet, 
ran  off  toward  them,  throwing  out  a  bluefish  drail  astern.  The 
school  of  small  "  bait "  disappeared  with  a  plunge  as  we  sailed 
over  it.  And  then  something  took  the  hook  with  a  powerful 
jerk.  Up  went  the  boat  into  the  wind,  and  after  a  hard  strug- 
gle a  fine  eight-pound  bluefish  came  flouncing  over  the  quar- 
ter. No  sooner  was  the  hook  overboard  again  than  another 
grabbed  it,  but  it  tore  off,  and  the  school  was  gone.  This  is 
one  of  the  important  uses  of  the  sea-birds.  The  mackerel 
fleet,  for  instance,  is  badly  handicapped  without  the  birds  to 
indicate  where  the  fish  are.  The  wholesale  destruction  of 
these  birds  for  millinery  purposes  is  absolutely  criminal,  as  it 
is  for  any  gunner  to  shoot  them  in  wanton  "sport."  Indeed, 
there  is  no  skill  or  sport  in  it,  nothing  but  contemptible 
butchery  and  mean  selfishness.  Live  and  let  live! 

With  a  moderate  supply  of  liver-bait  we  now  ran  offshore 
to  the  southeast,  leaving  Pollock  Rip  light-ship  dimly  show- 
ing up  away  to  the  southward.  How  strange  it  is,  every  time 
I  get  off  here  is  different  from  any  other  in  my  experience 
with  birds !  Oh,  the  Mother  Carey's  Chickens  that  there  were 
this  day !  We  began  to  encounter  them  three  miles  out,  and 
soon,  by  dropping  bits  of  liver,  we  had  a  fine  company  of 


OFF   CHATHAM    BARS 


191 


them  following  us  up  astern,  and  then  flitting  and  twittering 
around  the  vessel.  As  far  as  I  could  tell,  they  were  all  the 
antarctic  Wilson's  Petrels  —  with  yellow  webs  instead  of  black, 
and  tails  rounded  instead  of  forked.  What  restless,  stirring 
bits  of  animation  they  are !  They  are  seldom  seen  to  alight 
on  the  water,  save  for  an 
instant.  Toss  out  a  bit  of 
liver  just  astern  and  a 
petrel  flutters  down  and 
seizes  it,  without  alighting. 
It  keeps  fluttering  its  wings 
and  pattering  its  feet  on  the 
surface,  seeming  to  walk 
on  the  water,  like  Peter  of 
old,  hence  its  name.  They 
are  hard  indeed  to  photo- 
graph, so  constant  is  their 
activity  and  so  rapid  the 
beating  of  their  wings.  I 
was  snapping  away  plates 

at  them  with  my  reflex  camera  and  found  that  an  exposure 
of  one  one-thousandth  of  a  second  was  none  too  quick.  With 
one  five-hundredth,  at  close  range,  the  wings  would  blur. 

The  farther  off  we  sailed,  the  more  birds  appeared.  Now 
and  then  a  Parasitic  Jaeger  followed  us  up,  and  finally  a  large 
Pomarine  Jaeger,  tempted  by  the  bribes  of  rich,  fat  liver  we 
were  offering,  flew  up  several  times  close  astern  and  gave 
me  some  fine  chances  with  the  camera.  A  few  shearwaters, 
too,  began  to  show  themselves,  and  by  the  time  we  had 
reached  the  "  Crab  Ledge,"  some  eight  miles  out,  we  decided 
to  "  lie  to  "  again  and  feed  the  birds.  "  Chickens  "  were  as 
plenty  as  ever,  and  came  again  for  rations.  A  couple  of  jaegers 
took  the  leavings,  as  they  drifted  off  a  little  way  from  the 


WILSON'S  PETRELS 


192 


WILD   WINGS 


'A   SOOTY   SHEARWATER    OR   TWO   JOINED    THE    PARTY" 


vessel,  and  perhaps  a  dozen  Greater  Shearwaters  and  a  Sooty 
Shearwater  or  two  joined  the  party.  The  fishermen  call  the 
latter  class  "  Haglets,"  —  White  and  Black,  respectively, — 
while  the  jaegers  are  "  Jiddies." 

The  haglets  did  not  seem  as  tame  as  years  ago,  when 
I  used  almost  to  feed  them  out  of  my  hands.  Perhaps  the 
trouble  was  we  did  not  have  enough  livers  to  throw  out  much 
at  a  time  and  get  them  so  excited  that  they  would  bait  up 
well.  However,  they  came  fairly  near,  —  within  ten  feet, — 
and  I  took  a  lot  of  pictures  of  them,  in  all  sorts  of  positions 
and  combinations.  When  all  the  plates  in  the  holders  had 
been  exposed,  I  darkened  the  cuddy  and  managed  to  change 
plates  without  disaster  and  get  to  work  again. 

At  length  it  was  time  to  go  back,  especially  as  the  wind 
had  become  light  and  was  dying  out.  For  a  time  it  was  flat 


OFF   CHATHAM    BARS 


193 


calm,  and  we  got  out  the  long  oars.  As  we  rowed,  I  kept 
dropping  out  liver,  and  at  length  we  waited,  as  a  number  of 
haglets,  not  inclined  to  fly  without  wind,  alighted  to  eat  the 
liver  and  swam  after  us.  The  skipper  had  managed  to  catch 
a  few  haddock  and  a  single  cod  while  I  had  been  photograph- 
ing, and  we  dealt  out  frugally  the  scant  supply  of  liver.  But 
we  had  not  enough  to  draw  them  very  close,  and  presently  it 
was  all  gone,  so  the  birds  left  us  and  we  rowed  on.  In  time 
a  light  breeze  started  up,  ruffling  the  glassy  ocean  and  filling 
the  sail. 

A  little  farther  inshore  we  noticed  a  flock  of  both  kinds  of 
haglets  darting  eagerly  about  on  the  water.  Changing  our 
course,  we  ran  close  by  them  and  saw  that  it  was  a  school 
of  bait  they  were  chasing.  In  passing  I  secured  a  fine  pic- 
ture of  the  whole  scene  in  action.  This  time  our  drail  was 


GREATER    SHEARWATER.    "THEY    CAME    FAIRLY   NEAR 


194  WILD   WINGS 

not  ready  for  the  bluefish,  but  the  birds  had  done  their 
part. 

It  was  my  purpose  to  spend  another  day  off  Pollock  Rip 
and  enjoy  possible  new  developments.  Next  day  the  wind 
blew  a  gale  offshore,  and  evidently  it  blew  all  the  birds  away 
out  to  sea,  for  on  the  day  following,  when  I  tried  it  again, 
first  catching  a  liberal  supply  of  dog-fish  outside  the  bar,  there 
was  hardly  a  bird  to  be  found,  despite  a  long  sail,  and  far  off- 
shore at  that.  It  was  necessary,  then,  to  return  home,  so  I  had 
to  content  myself  with  what  I  had  already  secured. 

The  next  year,  in  August,  I  tried  it  again.  This  time  some- 
thing remarkable  happened.  I  got  offshore  the  first  day, 
without  any  delay.  Even  thus  I  had  to  have  a  little  fuss  and 
fret.  I  arrived  at  Chatham  late  in  the  preceding  afternoon, 
with  favorable  weather.  Then  the  wind  had  to  haul  to  the 
eastward,  and  blow  hard  in  the  night.  The  old  bars  began 
to  moan,  and  in  the  morning  we  could  see  a  line  of  breakers 
across  the  entrance.  "  Too  rough,"  announced  the  skipper. 
Yet  he  thought  we  might  be  able  to  get  out  when  the  tide 
turned  in.  So  we  ran  down  about  ten  o'clock,  the  party 
including  two  friends,  a  gentleman  and  his  wife,  both  ardent 
bird-lovers.  They  confessed  to  being  wretched  sailors,  but 
they  were  so  eager  to  see  those  ocean-birds  I  had  written 
about  that  they  were  willing  to  take  the  necessary  punish- 
ment. 

While  we  were  still  inside  the  point  of  the  "  north  beach,' ' 
before  we  took  the  swell,  we  saw  many  gulls  and  terns  of 
various  species,  and  were  having  such  a  good  time  that  the 
lady  remarked  very  naively  that  she  might  make  a  sailor 
after  all,  which  completely  upset  the  gravity  of  the  skipper. 
Alas,  as  we  rounded  the  point  and  shoal  and  plunged  into 
the  swell,  our  "  lands-people  "  were  soon  prostrated,  though 
they  remained  courageous.  Up  in  the  harbor  the  wind  was 


OFF   CHATHAM   BARS  197 


POMARINE   JAEGER.     "GREAT    POWERFUL   JAEGERS    WERE    PASSING" 

strong-  and  we  had  taken  a  double  reef  before  starting.  There 
was  also  wind  enough  outside,  we  could  see,  but  right  here 
was  a  slack  place,  and  we  could  not  stem  the  strong  incoming 
tide.  So  we  had  to  anchor  and  shake  out  the  reef.  Then  came 
some  breaker-dodging  tactics,  but  we  got  outside  the  bar  by 
noon  and  stood  off  to  the  southward,  toward  the  Pollock  Rip 
light-ship,  which  we  could  dimly  see,  and  then  offshore. 

It  proved  to  be  the  most  wonderful  day  for  jaegers  in  all 
my  experience  in  these  waters,  with  one  possible  exception. 
Within  a  mile  of  the  bars  we  began  to  see  them,  and  several 
miles  out  they  were  flying  about  in  large  numbers,  in  all  sorts 
of  plumage,  and  some  shearwaters  as  well,  with  a  few  of  the 
rare  Cory's  Shearwater,  which  I  had  not  seen  for  years. 

I  wish  I  could  have  a  painting  of  that  scene.    The  sky  was 


198 


WILD   WINGS 


GREATER    SHEARWATER    RISING 


clear,  the  breeze  good,  and  the  boat  tossing  actively  on  a 
rolling,  dancing  sea.  Two  suffering  people  lay  quietly,  one 
on  each  side  of  the  standing-room.  The  skipper  had  a  line 
overboard  trying  for  cod,  and,  at  my  dictation,  was  throwing 
out  fragments  of  liver  now  and  then,  to  keep  the  birds  baited 
up.  There  was  the  greatest  imaginable  flapping  of  wings 
going  on  all  around  us.  Scores  of  great  powerful  jaegers 
were  passing  and  repassing  close  about,  and  dashing  down 
into  the  water  to  secure  pieces  of  liver.  Several  at  once  would 
try  for  a  piece,  and  the  quickest  would  get  it.  There  were 
shearwaters,  or  haglets,  too,  though  not  nearly  so  many. 
With  great  rapidity  they  would  go  winnowing  along,  faster 
than  the  jaegers,  and  plunge  violently  into  the  water,  seize  a 
piece  of  liver  with  a  most  comical  expression  of  greedy  satis- 
faction, and  hurry  off,  as  they  gulped  it  down,  for  fear  that 
a  jaeger  would  get  it  away  from  them.  Once  in  flight  they 
did  not  fear  the  jaegers,  so  swift  are  they  on  their  narrow, 


OFF   CHATHAM    BARS  199 

pointed  wings.  The  wailing  that  was  going  on  made  me 
think  of  the  slaughter  of  a  battle,  only  that  I  knew  the  wails 
were  not  of  anguish  but  of  satisfaction,  eagerness,  jealousy. 
The  jaeger's  wail  was  in  a  high-pitched  key,  somewhat  stri- 
dent ;  that  of  the  shearwater  was  mellower  and  lower  in  the 
scale. 

As  for  me,  I  was  just  in  my  element,  fairly  wild  with  de- 
light, feeling  like  an  admiral  on  his  quarter-deck  when  victory 
is  surely  his  own.  As  fast  as  I  could,  I  loaded  the  reflex 
camera,  selected  a  single  bird  nearest  me,  in  flight  or  in  the 
act  of  alighting,  or  else  some  pretty  combination  of  birds,  and 
fired  away.  It  was  a  perfect  fusillade,  yet  each  exposure  was 
made  with  thought  and  care,  though  each  followed  the  other 
with  considerable  rapidity.  Meanwhile  my  friends  had  pluckily 
aroused  themselves  to  see  the  great  sight,  and  I  pointed  out 
to  them  the  different  sorts  of  birds  —  six  kinds  in  all,  there 
were.  The  doctor  had  with  him  a  small  camera,  and  he  took 
a  few  snap-shots. 

For  over  an  hour  my  battery  was  in  constant  action.  Then 
the  plates  were  used  up,  so  I  darkened  the  cuddy,  and  crawled 
into  it  to  change  plates.  This  took  some  time,  and  when  I 
emerged  a  big  cloudbank  was  making  up  from  the  west.  Just 
as  it  began  to  cover  the  sun,  something  went  wrong  with  the 
focal-plane  shutter,  —  a  chip  got  into  it,  I  found  out  that 
evening,  —  and  it  would  not  work.  It  was  time,  anyhow,  to 
stop  and  get  in  before  the  tide  turned,  so  I  quit  work.  It  was 
singular  that  all  day  I  saw  but  two  Wilson's  Petrels.  Yet  it 
was  far  more  of  an  achievement  to  have  photographed  the 
jaegers,  which  I  have  never  found  as  tame  as,  for  some 
reason,  they  were  this  day.  Unfortunately  a  good  many  of 
the  pictures  proved  worthless  on  account  of  the  ground-glass 
having  been  reset  a  trifle  out  of  register.  A  few  good  ones, 
however,  repaid  me  for  the  trip. 


2OO 


WILD   WINGS 


No  sooner  did  we  enter  the  harbor  again  than  the  sick 
ones  revived,  and  soon  were  restored  to  health  and  the 
enthusiasm  of  living,  glad  that  they  had  endured  the  ordeal 
and  seen  the  "ocean  wanderers."  Yet  we  were  all  agreed 
that  about  once  a  year  was  often  enough  for  a  land-lubber 
to  be  subjected  to  so  severe  a  punishment,  even  to  see  rare 
birds. 


POMAKINE JAEGER 


Part  IV 


Clustoe 


Birds  of  passage  sailed  through  tJie  leaden  air,  from  the  ice-bound, 
Desolate  northern  bays  to  tJie  shores  of  tropical  islands. 

LONGFELLOW. 


^ 


SEMIPALMATED    SANDPIPERS 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    SHORE    PATROL 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast. 

BRYANT. 

A  certain  seasons  of  the  year  our  shores  bordering  on 
ocean  and  great  lake  are  carefully  patrolled  by  the 
crews  of  the  Government  Life-saving  Service.    And 
there  are  seasons,  too,  when  a  feathered  host  is  on  patrol, 
suffering  few  castaways  —  of  a  certain  class  —  to  be  long 
neglected.    Science  has  a  concise  and  suggestive  name  for 
them,  —  Limicolae,  dwellers  by  the  shore.    It  is  a  varied  and 
numerous  company,  represented  by  forty  species  in  eastern 
North  America.    Though  one  of  these,  the  Woodcock,  prefers 
the  swampy  thickets,  and  his  cousin,  Wilson's  Snipe,   the 


204  WILD   WINGS 

thick  grass  of  the  meadows,  and  certain  others  are  partial  to 
marshes,  dry  pasture,  or  prairie,  the  decided  preference  of  the 
Order  is  for  the  margin  where  land  and  water  meet,  whether 
it  be  by  ocean,  river,  lake,  or  pool.  They  are  waders  by  nature 
and  generally  by  practice,  and  there  is  not  one  but  what  at 
times  dabbles  in  margins,  that,  unlike  some  margins  in  human 
affairs,  provide  an  unfailing  sustenance,  with  their  abounding 
forms  of  small  animal  life. 

Many  a  sojourn  by  the  sea  has  been  brightened  for  me  by 
the  presence  of  the  shore-birds.  They  are  nature's  contribu- 
tion toward  filling  a  vacuum.  Every  other  sort  of  locality  — 
forest,  pasture,  prairie,  mountain,  swamp,  and  ocean  —  has 
its  peculiar  birds,  and  so  has,  therefore,  the  shore.  I  love 
to  sit  on  the  beach  and  see  a  flock  of  sandpipers  racing 
nimbly  after  the  retreating  wave,  and  back  again  when  it 
returns,  pattering  along  the  strand  and  picking  up  the  tiny 
bits  of  food,  invisible  to  coarse  human  sight.  They  are  not 
ordinarily  very  shy,  and,  by  hiding  a  little,  or  sitting  quite 
still,  I  have  often  watched  their  pretty  motions  from  within 
a  few  feet.  Then,  perhaps,  they  see  that  they  are  observed, 
and  off  they  go  with  quick,  darting  flight  and  mellow  twit- 
terings, to  take  a  circuit  out  over  the  water,  and  return  to 
alight  a  few  hundred  feet  farther  along.  Though  small, 
they  are  strong  of  flight,  and  that  they  seek  out  the  distant, 
mysterious  North  for  their  nesting  adds  to  their  charm. 

A  few  species  spend  their  summers  with  us  and  raise 
their  young,  but,  possessing  vigorous  powers  of  flight,  and 
sought  after  by  man  for  food,  most  of  them  wing  their  way 
to  the  shores  of  the  Arctic  Ocean,  passing  hurriedly  by  us  in 
the  spring,  and  returning  more  leisurely  in  the  fall.  On  the 
Atlantic  coast  north  of  Virginia  comparatively  few  are  now 
found  in  the  spring  flight,  during  May ;  the  great  majority 
pass  us  out  to  sea  or  go  up  through  the  interior,  notably 


THE  SHORE   PATROL  205 

along  the  Mississippi  Valley  and  the  Great  Plains,  returning 
from  July  to  October  by  the  Atlantic  coast  route  in  large 
numbers,  though  many,  even  then,  take  the  inland  route. 

It  is  June  before  the  last  migrant  waders  have  passed  the 
New  England  shores,  and  by  early  July  they  begin  to  straggle 
back  again,  so  that  the  stay  of  some  of  them  in  the  North  is 
but  short.  Among  the  first  to  return  are  the  little  sandpipers 
known  as  "  Peep  "  or  "  Ox-eyes,"  — the  Least  and  Semipal- 
mated  Sandpipers.  The  little  Ring-necked  Plovers  and  the 
Lesser  (or  "Summer")  Yellow-legs  soon  follow.  The  bare 
flats  again  begin  to  be  dotted  with  nimble  little  forms,  and 
the  shrill,  piping  whistle  of  the  Yellow-legs  on  the  marshes  is 
a  characteristic  sound.  The  Sanderling  —  our  only  sandpiper 
that,  plover-like,  has  not  even  a  rudimentary  hind  toe  —  soon 
becomes  common  on  the  flats  and  beaches,  and  presently 
small  parties  of  the  Knot  (or  Gray-back),  Dowitcher  (or  Red- 
breasted  Snipe),  and  Black-bellied  Plover  (or  "  Beetle-head  ") 
appear.  The  Spotted  Sandpipers,  notable  for  their  habit  of 
teetering  the  body,  the  commonest  shore-bird  breeding  in  New 
England,  now  gather  on  the  shores  of  the  bays  or  on  stony 
beaches,  where  the  gay-colored  Turnstone,  singly,  or  in  small 
parties,  begins  to  be  seen.  By  August  a  few  Willets  may  be 
found  on  the  beaches  and  sand-flats,  and  the  Upland  Plovers 
or  Bartramian  Sandpipers  frequent  certain  hilly  pastures  not 
far  from  salt  water.  By  this  time,  scattering  Bonaparte's  (or 
White-rumped)  Sandpipers  have  joined  the  flocks  of  small 
waders,  flocks  of  Pectoral  Sandpipers  (or  "  Grass-birds  ")  and 
Greater  (or  "Winter")  Yellow-legs  appear  on  the  marshes, 
and  the  pretty  little  sand-colored  Piping  Plover,  which  has 
remained  to  breed,  gains  its  greatest  abundance  through 
accessions  of  young  birds,  and  some  that  have  been  farther 
north.  A  few  Hudsonian  (or  "  Jack  ")  Curlew,  wary  fellows, 
with  long,  decurved  bills,  roam  about  behind  the  beaches. 


206  WILD   WINGS 

The  Solitary  Sandpiper  is  seen  on  the  margins  mostly  of 
woodland  ponds  and  bogs. 

I  may  be  mistaken,  but  it  has  usually  seemed  to  me  that 
from  about  the  twentieth  of  August  to  the  first  part  of  Sep- 
tember there  is  a  decided  diminution  in  the  numbers  of  many 
of  the  shore-birds.  It  is  largely  the  adults  that  have  been 
present  hitherto.  These  pass  on,  and  there  is  a  gap  between 
this  and  the  arrival  of  the  young,  which  in  a  number  of 
species  can  be  distinguished  by  a  paler  cast  of  plumage. 
The  young  Ring-necks  and  Knots  begin  to  appear  by  the 
last  of  August ;  young  Black-bellied  Plovers  are  not  much  in 
evidence  before  the  tenth  of  September,  and  the  young  of 
the  Golden  Plovers,  if  they  come  at  all,  are  often  even  later. 
During  the  latter  half  of  September  and  well  into  October 
there  are  considerable  flights  of  Winter  Yellow-legs.  At 
this  time,  too,  the  Red-backed  Sandpipers  flock  along  the 
beaches,  a  tardy  tribe  that  the  summer  boarder  knows 
nothing  of.  Wilson's  Snipe  abounds  on  the  meadows  and 
provides  sport  for  the  hunters.  The  hardiest  of  all  the  host 
are  the  Purple  Sandpipers,  the  only  waders  that  habitually 
spend  their  winters  in  the  North.  They  can  rarely  bear  the 
tropical  heat  of  a  Boston  winter,  and  Cape  Ann  is  about  as 
far  south  as  they  commonly  venture.  They  are  abundant, 
for  instance,  on  Matinicus  Island,  Maine,  all  winter,  feeding 
among  the  rocks,  and  are  called  "  Rock  Snipe." 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that,  owing  to  the  tremendous 
persecution  of  the  shore-birds  in  their  southward  flight  along 
the  coast-line  of  New  England  and  the  Middle  States,  increas- 
ing numbers  of  various  species  are  learning  to  avoid  this 
dangerous  zone  and  to  pass  us  far  out  to  sea,  flying  in  the 
spring  from  the  capes  of  North  Carolina  or  Virginia  direct 
to  the  Maritime  Provinces,  and  in  the  autumn  flight  straight 
back  from  Nova  Scotia.  Indeed,  this  has  always  been  the 


THE   SHORE   PATROL  207 

habit  of  certain  species  —  naturally  enough  the  Phalaropes, 
and  notably  the  Golden  Plover  and  the  Eskimo  Curlew.  One 
of  the  most  fascinating  possibilities  of  the  fall  flight  time 
-  late  in  August  and  during  September  —  is  that  a  violent 
easterly  gale  may  occur  and  deflect  to  our  shores  great  num- 
bers of  these  fine  birds,  which  are  of  particular  interest  because 
of  the  halo  of  mystery  and  romance  —  we  may  say  —  which 
surrounds  them.  These  exciting  occasions,  alas,  are  becom- 
ing more  and  more  rare,  yet  I  keenly  enjoy  the  remembrance 
of  some  of  them,  especially  of  one  which  I  shall  now  describe. 
The  twenty-ninth  of  August,  1883,  according  to  my  journal, 
was  the  date  of  the  first  autumnal  hurricane.  For  nearly  two 
months  I  had  been  camping,  with  friends,  at  Chatham, 
Massachusetts,  studying  the  birds  of  sea  and  shore.  Our  tent 
was  pitched  on  a  grassy  slope,  a  few  rods  up  from  the  bay. 
During  the  previous  afternoon  the  wind  had  freshened  from 
the  northeast,  and  masses  of  stratus  cloud  and  fog,  rolling  in 
from  the  sea,  began  to  underlie  the  high  cirrus  streamers 
from  a  contrary  direction.  At  bedtime,  making  everything 
fast,  we  sought  our  blankets.  But  at  midnight  there  came  to 
our  ears  a  cry.  It  was  the  roar  of  the  storm  which  threatened 
our  frail  shelter,  while  the  sea  had  risen  to  our  very  door. 
After  a  disturbed,  uncomfortable  night,  the  day  broke  gray 
and  wet.  Looking  out,  we  saw  the  waters,  even  of  the  bay, 
a  mass  of  raging  foam.  The  rain  was  driving  almost  parallel 
with  the  ground,  while  ever  and  anon  came  a  terrific  blast 
that  would  almost  carry  one  away  with  the  helpless  raindrops 
flying  before  it.  Out  on  the  open  sea  great  waves  followed 
one  after  another  in  quick  succession,  and  thundered  in  on 
the  beach,  bringing,  it  seemed,  the  ocean  bottom  along  with 
them,  for,  as  far  out  as  one  could  see,  the  ocean  was  mingled 
with  sand  and  masses  of  weed,  trophies  of  the  violence  of  the 
storm. 


208  WILD   WINGS 

What  was  that  great  cloud  of  birds  high  in  the  air,  appar- 
ently three  or  four  hundred  in  number,  driving  in  from  the 
sea  with  the  gale  ?  I  realized  I  was  witnessing  what  I  had 
longed  to  see,  a  flight  of  the  Golden  Plover  and  Eskimo 
Curlew,  birds  which  in  a  certain  way  are  to  be  associated  in 
a  class  by  themselves.  In  a  moment,  as  I  stood  there,  I  saw 
another  flock,  and  others,  some  smaller,  but  all  of  good  size. 
There  was  no  especial  order  in  their  ranks  ;  it  was  no  time  to 
think  of  such  matters.  The  gale  had  reduced  them  to  hud- 
dling, driven  masses. 

I  have  not  space  to  detail  the  events  of  the  day.  For  hours, 
these  and  other  shore-bird  flocks  passed  in  from  the  sea  over 
the  end  of  the  Cape.  Most  of  them  were  high  in  air,  but  some 
came  in  low  over  the  outer  beach,  and  were  decimated  by  the 
gunners.  All  that  morning  noble  flocks  of  Golden  Plover  and 
Eskimo  Curlew  were  stringing  over  the  pasture  grounds  and 
barren  hill-tops,  where  the  gunners  lay  in  wait  for  them 
and  shot  them  down.  By  noon  the  storm  began  to  abate 
slightly,  and  the  flight  slackened.  Early  the  next  morning, 
though  the  wind  was  still  in  the  east,  there  was  hardly  a  wader 
of  any  kind  to  be  found.  Every  year  since  then,  these  fine 
birds  have  become  scarcer  on  New  England  shores,  and  such 
a  flight  may  never  be  seen  again.  There  is  a  peculiar  roman- 
tic interest  which  attaches  to  these  flights.  After  nesting  in 
the  arctic  regions,  these  plover  and  curlew  proceed  in  August 
to  Labrador.  Thence  they  pass  to  Nova  Scotia,  and  then 
south  over  the  ocean,  resting  occasionally  on  its  surface,  but 
avoiding  the  dangerous  shores  of  the  United  States.  Cross- 
ing the  West  Indies,  they  are  said  to  land  on  the  shores  of 
Brazil,  and  thence  pass  down  to  Argentina,  and  even  Pata- 
gonia. If  a  gale  blows  them  off  this  course,  and  compels 
them  to  touch  on  our  much-hunted  shores,  they  leave  them 
at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  In  the  spring  they  return  to 


THE  SHORE   PATROL 


209 


the  far  North  through  the  interior  of  the  United  States.  The 
first  flight  off  New  England  seems  to  occur  about  the  last  ten 
days  of  August,  and  is  only  of  adult  birds.  The  young  do  not 
reach  us  till  about  the  middle  of  September.  The  young 
Golden  Plovers  used  to  frequent,  in  late  September,  the 
"  Back-Bay  marshes  "  of  Boston,  which  I  then  considered 
a  splendid  plover  ground  ;  but  this  is  a  thing  of  the  past. 


TURNSTONES.    "THE    BIRDS    FED    UP   NEAR    TO    ME" 

The  desire  to  see  more  of  the  shore-birds,  rapidly  becom- 
ing scarce  on  the  New  England  coast,  started  me  off,  a  few 
seasons  ago,  about  the  middle  of  August,  along  the  eastern 
coast  of  Nova  Scotia.  I  kept  travelling  until  I  found  an 
ideal  spot,  —  fine  lonely  sand-beaches  pounded  by  the  surf, 
extensive  salt  marshes  back  of  them,  and  an  inlet  whose 
sand-flats  furnished  unsurpassed  feeding-ground  for  hosts  of 
shore-birds.  The  very  first  birds  I  saw  were  four  Hudsonian 
Curlews  walking  about  in  their  sedate  fashion  in  the  dry 
sand  and  grass  above  the  beach  on  which  were  sporting 
flocks  of  smaller  shore-birds.  I  had  seen  enough  to  convince 


210  WILD  WINGS 

me,  and  forthwith  I  engaged  board  with  a  fisherman's  family 
who  lived  close  by. 

All  my  favorable  impressions  were  fully  confirmed  during 
the  two  weeks  of  my  stay.  The  beaches  and  flats  abounded  in 
life.  Sanderlings,  Ring-necks,  Least  and  Semipalmated  Sand- 
pipers —  in  large  flocks  or  scattering  —  were  everywhere, 
with  numbers  of  Piping  Plovers,  and  occasionally  Gray- 
backs  and  Dowitchers  feeding  among  them.  On  the  stony 
beaches,  especially  where  seaweed  had  accumulated,  were 
good  flocks  of  Turnstones  and  numbers  of  Spotted  Sandpip- 
ers. Great  flocks  of  hundreds  of  all  these  species  intermingled 
fed  along  the  outer  beach.  Out  on  the  flats  of  the  inlet  were 
many  adult  Black-bellied  Plovers,  which  gathered  in  an 
immense  flock,  at  high  tide,  upon  certain  dry  sand-bars 
and  thwarted  all  attempts  to  approach  them.  On  these 
flats  and  on  the  marshes  both  kinds  of  Yellow-legs  were  found, 
and  their  shrill,  " tell-tale"  whistle  was  always  resounding. 
The  marshes  attracted  quite  a  few  Pectoral  Sandpipers,  and, 
in  the  early  morning,  bunches  of  Phalaropes  which  had  come 
in  from  the  open  sea.  There  were,  too,  from  time  to  time, 
a  few  Hudsonian  Curlews  upon  the  marshes  and  dunes  and 
also  back  in  the  cranberry-bogs. 

There  was  no  flight,  as  yet,  of  the  Golden  Plover  or 
Eskimo  Curlew.  I  had  to  leave  on  September  first,  and, 
rather  curiously,  returned  there  on  that  exact  date  the  year 
following,  as  though  to  begin  where  I  left  off.  Conditions 
were  about  as  before,  save  that  the  weather  had  turned  cool 
and  many  of  the  smaller  waders  had  left,  while  the  young 
birds  were  just  beginning  to  arrive.  About  the  twenty-fifth  of 
August  the  fishermen  had  noticed  a  few  flocks  of  Eskimo 
Curlew  and  Golden  Plover,  but  there  were  none  about  now. 
On  September  tenth  I  saw  a  single  Golden  Plover,  which  a  boy 
had  shot  as  it  fed  with  some  "  Ox-eyes."  On  the  thirteenth 


THE   SHORE   PATROL  211 

the  wind  was  fresh  from  the  northeast  and  the  Golden  Plovers 
arrived  in  good  numbers,  and  were  common  during  the 
remaining  week  of  my  stay.  At  first  all  were  adults,  with  dark 
breasts,  but  on  the  fifteenth  and  afterwards  there  were  more 
and  more  of  the  pale-bellied  young.  They  fed  preferably  on 
the  marshes  or  on  any  grass-land  near  the  sea,  but  also  were 
often  seen  along  the  edge  of  the  inlet,  wading  along  its  sandy 
margins. 

Somehow,  the  Golden  Plover  appeals  to  me  as  the  finest 
of  the  shore-birds.  It  has  a  good  name,  it  is  a  beautiful  bird, 
and  is  all  the  more  attractive  for  the  romantic  interest  attach- 
ing to  its  wonderful  migration  and  its  fortuitous  appearances 
on  our  shores.  No  bird  has  more  splendid  powers  of  flight. 
How  I  love  to  watch  the  varied  evolutions  of  its  swift  squad- 
rons, now  high  in  air,  now  low  over  the  flats,  wheeling  to  the 
stirring,  wild  music  of  mellow,  whistled  calls !  Then  they 
suddenly  alight  in  the  short  grass,  where  they  scatter  out  in 
pursuit  of  grasshoppers  or  other  insect  prey,  not  forgetting 
their  true  plover  dignity  as  they  walk  sedately  about  or  stand 
erect,  like  Robins  listening  for  the  worm. 

On  the  eighteenth  the  first  of  the  tardy  host  of  Red-backed 
Sandpipers  —  sometimes  called  "  Frost-birds  "  —  arrived,  and 
previously,  on  the  fifth  and  sixth,  I  made  my  first  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Buff-breasted  Sandpiper,  —  a  flock  of  a  dozen 
flying  along  the  beach  and  a  single  one  feeding  on  the  inlet 
flats. 

Birds  were  now  pouring  in,  —  scoters  and  other  sea-ducks 
had  begun  to  fly,  jaegers  were  out  at  sea  in  swarms,  hawks  of 
various  sorts  were  migrating,  with  many  Northern  land-birds 
among  the  spruces,  —  and  it  seemed  hard  to  pack  my  belong- 
ings and  start  off,  amid  the  first  early  snow-squall,  for  tame 
and  effete  civilization ! 

On  Sunday  evening,  the  night  before  I  left,  I  strolled  down 


212  WILD   WINGS 

the  beach  alone,  for  a  parting  look.  The  full  moon  had  just 
risen  from  the  ocean,  flooding  sea  and  beach  with  its  silvery 
splendor.  The  exquisite  scene  made  a  profound  impression 
on  me,  which  was  heightened  by  the  presence  of  two  little 
Sanderlings,  feeding  by  moonlight.  I  sat  down  and  wratched 
them.  The  sparkling,  phosphorescent  wave  would  ripple  up 
around  their  little  feet,  and  they  would  run  before  it,  and 
then  race  back  again,  as  it  retreated.  They  were  so  busy,  so 
happy,  and  twittered  one  to  the  other,  saying,  in  spirit, 

"  One  little  sandpiper  and  I," 

while  I  felt  it  too.  At  length  they  darted  off  up  the  shore, 
but  I  still  lingered  to  enjoy  the  moon,  wave,  and  ocean, 
worshipping,  I  felt,  in  the  beauty  of  holiness,  until  passing 
time  compelled  me  to  seek  the  fisher's  cottage. 

There  is  a  peculiar  fascination  for  me  in  the  spring  migra- 
tion of  the  Limicolse,  for  then  the  birds  are  decked  in  their 
beautiful  vernal  dress.  Instead  of  a  pale,  bleached-out  plum- 
age, the  fashion  is  one  of  rich  browns,  reds,  and  black,  with 
deep-tinted,  striking  breast-colors  and  markings.  There  is 
no  finer  place  to  observe  this  than  the  broad  prairies  of  the 
West.  There  one  will  meet  a  number  of  the  larger  kinds  in 
abundance,  which  he  would  look  for  in  vain  on  the  Atlantic 
coast.  How  the  picture  rises  before  my  mind  of  the  broncos 
jogging  over  a  fire-swept  prairie,  about  the  middle  of  May, 
and  the  discovery  of  a  flock  of  twenty  Golden  Plover  but 
a  few  rods  off,  blending  perfectly  in  color  with  the  blackened 
ground,  as  they  faced  us  with  coal-black  breasts.  We  stopped 
the  horses  to  watch,  yet  they  did  not  fly,  as  we  feared  they 
would,  but  resumed  their  feeding.  They  pattered  about, 
making  their  graceful  plover-bows  as  they  stooped  quickly 
for  their  insect-prey,  showing  us  the  golden-yellow  spangles 
on  their  backs,  and  the  clear  white  wreath  of  distinction 


THE   SHORE   PATROL 


213 


around  the  sides  of  the  head.  They  were  taking  needed 
rest  and  refreshment  on  their  long  journey  from  Patagonia  to 
the  Arctic  Sea,  and  we  left  them  with  sincere  wishes  for  their 
prosperity.  Thus  I  encountered  many  a  flock,  and  even  found 
a  band  of  them  wading  in  a  shallow  alkaline  lake. 


FLOCK   OF   TURNSTONES,   WITH    A   WILSON'S    PLOVER,    A    DOWITCHER,    AND    A   SANDPIPER 

Near  here  the  next  morning,  on  a  muddy  flat  bordering 
a  small  slough,  I  had  my  introduction  to  a  kind  of  wader  that 
I  had  long  desired  to  meet.  I  saw  them,  a  band  of  a  dozen, 
long  of  leg  and  bill,  scattered  about,  eagerly  probing  in  the 
rich  Dakota  mud.  They  had  reddish  breasts  and  white  rumps, 
and  I  knew  they  were  the  Hudsonian  Godwit,  a  bird  I  had 
never  seen  alive.  They  remained  there  all  day,  giving  me 
abundant  opportunity  to  watch  their  graceful  motions,  - 
walking,  probing,  and  wading, — which  resembled  those  of 
the  Yellow-legs.  This  species,  too,  breeds  in  the  far  North. 

Other  migratory  species  were  also  passing,  lingering  awhile 
along  the  margins  of  the  lakes  or  the  muddy  shores  of  the 
sloughs.  Many  Turnstones,  in  their  most  brilliant  plumage, 
were  enjoying  the  pebbly  shores  of  the  larger  lakes.  In  one 


214  WILD   WINGS 

shallow,  muddy  slough,  on  Memorial  Day,  I  saw  a  typical 
and  beautiful  sight.  The  soft,  muddy  shores  and  the  shallow 
water  were  dotted  all  over  with  shore-birds  wading  about  and 
having  a  most  happy  time.  Largest  and  most  conspicuous, 
save  for  two  or  three  Willets,  were  a  number  of  fine  Black- 
bellied  and  Golden  Plovers  in  splendid  plumage.  Near  them 
were  Dowitchers,  with  their  ruddy  under  parts  of  the  spring 
dress,  and  some  Yellow-legs,  as  well  as  a  varied  proletariat 
of  the  smaller  species,  —  White-rumped,  Semipalmated,  and 
Least  Sandpipers,  Ring-necks,  and  a  few  Solitary  Tatlers  and 
Killdeers.  It  was  a  glorious  day,  spicy  with  the  crisp  ozone 
of  the  prairies.  How  could  I  but  be  exhilarated  !  Along  with 
the  migrants  one  also  continually  sees  the  limicoline  species 
that  remain  to  breed,  —  Upland  Plovers,  Killdeers,  Willets, 
Great  Marbled  Godwits,  Wilson's  Phalaropes,  Piping  Plovers, 
and  Avocets,  the  aggregate  of  which  would  make  well  worth 
while  a  spring  trip  to  the  prairies  of  the  West,  even  if  the  only 
bird-life  were  that  of  the  shore-birds. 

In  these  degenerate  days  of  waning  numbers  of  shore- 
birds  in  our  Northern  Atlantic  States,  it  will  greatly  revive 
the  bird-lover's  drooping  spirits  and  stimulate  his  faith 
that  it  is  not  yet  too  late  to  save  the  shore-birds,  to  take 
a  trip  along  the  coasts  of  our  Southern  States  in  beautiful 
May.  It  is  pretty  hot  then,  but  never  mind,  it  will  pay  to 
go.  Aside  from  the  breeding  shore-birds,  the  abundance  of 
the  migrants  is  a  revelation.  I  was  charmed  with  the  gentle 
Red-backed  Sandpipers,  in  their  beautiful ''spring  plumage, 
with  the  black  abdomen,  so  different  from  our  "Lead-back  " 
of  the  late  fall.  They  were  so  tame  I  was  sometimes  able 
to  creep  up  near  enough  to  them,  on  the  open  flats  and 
shores,  to  secure  quite  satisfactory  pictures  with  the  reflex 
camera.  Then  there  were  the  Dowitchers,  Knots,  and  Turn- 
stones in  their  gay  habiliments,  with  the  Black-bellied  and 


\\ 


THE   SHORE   PATROL 


217 


HUDSONIAN    CURLEWS    COMING    IN    AT    NIGHT    TO    ROOST 

Ring-necked  Plovers,  Yellow-legs,  and  the  host  of  little 
"  Ox-eyes." 

But  what  impressed  me  most  was  the  astonishing  migra- 
tion of  the  Hudsonian  Curlews.  Having  never  seen  more 
than  a  few  scattered  ones  at  any  one  time,  I  had  imagined 
that  the  species  was  everywhere  scarce.  But  here  they  were 
by  scores  of  thousands.  During  the  day  they  were  widely 
scattered  over  immense  marshes.  Learning  from  others  of 
the  best  places  to  observe  them,  I  spent  a  night  at  each  of 
several  little  low  islands  —  mere  sand-bars  —  lying  off  the 
coast. 

About  half-past  five  or  six  o'clock,  when  the  sun  was  low  in 
the  horizon  or  had  set  behind  a  cloud-bank,  the  first  advanc- 
ing line  is  seen,  and  a  string  of  from  a  dozen  to  fifty  Hud- 
sonian Curlews  come  scaling  over  the  beach,  to  alight  on  the 
bar,  down  at  the  other  end.  After  a  few  minutes  another  flock 
is  seen  approaching.  By  half-past  six  they  are  arriving  fast, 
and  by  seven  there  are  two  or  three  flocks  in  sight  all  the 


218  WILD  WINGS 

time,  some  of  them  containing  as  many  as  seventy- five  birds. 
Meantime  I  am  shooting  at  them  as  they  pass,  with  my  re- 
flex camera,  despite  the  dull  light.  As  may  be  imagined,  the 
company  on  the  sand  has  become  immense,  covering  many 
acres.  They  keep  up  a  sort  of  murmuring  noise,  and  now  and 
then  all  fly  up,  with  a  perfect  storm  and  tumult  of  wings  and 
voices,  soon  to  alight  again.  Even  after  dark  they  are  yet 
arriving,  as  one  may  hear.  I  hazard  the  guess  that  there  are 
often  ten  thousand  curlews  at  such  a  roost  each  night.  At  the 
first  glimmer  of  day  they  are  off  again  for  the  marshes.  It  is 
very  important  that  every  Southern  State  should  prohibit  the 
spring  shooting  of  shore-birds.  Unless  they  do  so,  in  a  few 
years  these  species  will  surely  be  exterminated,  at  the  recent, 
and  even  present,  rate  of  wholesale  slaughter.  It  is  simply 
wicked,  as  well  as  short-sighted,  to  kill  them  at  this  time,  when 
they  are  about  to  breed. 

Despite  all  the  camera-hunting  of  the  day,  it  is  notable  that 
there  have  been  almost  no  shore-bird  photographs  in  exist- 
ence. The  reason  is  that  the  task  is  almost  prohibitive.  Shore- 
birds  are  timid,  quick  in  their  motions ;  they  live  in  the  open, 
and  are  so  small  —  most  of  them  —  that,  unless  one  can  get 
very  near  indeed,  the  picture  will  amount  to  but  little.  I  have 
spent  whole  days  in  blinds  with  decoys,  or  with  the  camera 
focused  on  the  water's  edge,  vainly  waiting  for  a  single  one 
of  the  provoking  birds  to  come  within  proper  range.  Occa- 
sionally I  have  thus  secured  a  single  picture.  Little  by  little, 
in  the  course  of  years,  through  taking  advantage  of  every 
opportunity,  my  series  of  shore-bird  pictures  has  been  slowly 
growing,  and  once  I  improved  the  chance  of  a  lifetime. 

It  was  in  my  cruise  among  the  Florida  Keys  when  I  left 
the  party  who  were  to  return  in  the  schooner  to  Miami,  and 
Warden  Bradley  and  I  started  on  the  fifty-mile  beat  to  wind- 
ward in  a  centre-board  skiff  back  to  our  headquarters.  The 


THE   SHORE   PATROL  219 

westerly  wind  kept  increasing,  and  by  eleven  o'clock  the  situ- 
ation was  alarming.  The  waves  were  making  a  clean  breach 
over  us.  My  precious  box  of  photographic  plates  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  boat,  propped  up  on  a  kettle  and  a  coffee-pot 
to  keep  them  out  of  the  swashing  water,  and  covered  with 
a  rubber  cloth  above.  Finally,  up  spake  Bradley :  "  Mr.  Job, 
I  don't  want  to  take  the  responsibility  for  your  life  ;  suppose 
we  run  back  and  anchor  behind  those  keys  till  we  have  better 
weather."  But  time  was  very  valuable,  and  I  urged  him  to 
take  the  chances,  so  we  kept  on,  and,  after  a  hard  fight,  by 
early  afternoon  reached  the  next  keys  to  windward,  —  two 
small  mangrove  islets,  one  of  them  with  a  narrow  sand-beach 
around  it,  close  up  to  the  thicket,  with  small  sand-bars  at 
one  end  just  across  a  narrow  channel  that  closely  approached 
the  shore.  As  we  sailed  near,  I  saw  that  these  sands  were  fairly 
alive  with  shore-birds,  feeding  and  taking  refuge  from  the 
gale. 

Immediately  I  recognized  this  as  a  great  opportunity, 
and,  landing  upon  the  key,  despite  the  swarms  of  mosquitoes, 
I  went  to  work.  Up  at  the  farther  end  were  the  most  birds, 
and,  creeping  up,  I  peered  through  the  bushes.  Within  from 
ten  to  twenty  feet  of  me  were  a  sprinkling  of  minor  waders, 
a  fine  flock  of  some  twenty  Black-bellied  Plovers,  and  a  few 
Laughing  Gulls.  I  wish  I  could  have  photographed  the 
gulls,  yet  I  am  sorry  they  were  there,  for  while  I  was  trying 
to  clear  a  "window"  through  the  mangrove  shrubbery  out 
of  which  to  aim  the  camera,  they  saw  me  and  set  up  such 
a  screaming,  as  they  departed,  that  they  took  with  them  all 
the  other  birds. 

However,  standing  knee-deep  in  the  water,  I  finished  my 
work  and  set  up  the  camera  on  the  tripod,  and  focused  on 
the  sand-bar.  No  sooner  had  I  done  this  than  many  of  the 
birds  began  to  come  back, — various  sandpipers,  Dowitchers, 


220 


WILD  WINGS 


Wilson's  Plovers,  and  soon  a  large  flock  of  Turnstones. 
Silently  and  swiftly  I  photographed  them  until  my  plates 
were  exhausted,  when  I  returned  to  the  boat  for  more,  and 
then  went  at  it  again.  Not  a  bird  saw  me.  Within  a  dozen 
feet  they  fed,  bathed,  preened  their  feathers,  and  rested,  with 
no  shadow  of  suspicion  disturbing  their  peace  of  mind. 


"A    SPLENDID    MALE    BLACK-BREAST    PLOVER."     "  TIRED    OF    FEEDING" 

Then  I  left  them  and  went  out  to  an  open  beach  with  the 
reflex  camera.  A  large  flock  of  small  sandpipers  and  some 
Turnstones,  with  a  few  Ring-necked  and  Wilson's  Plovers, 
were  busily  feeding.  Upon  hands  and  knees  I  crawled  out 
to  an  isolated  mangrove  bush,  close  to  the  water's  edge.  The 
birds  fed  up  near  to  me,  as  I  squatted  there,  without  seeming 
to  distinguish  me  from  the  bush.  Some  of  them,  one  or  two 


THE   SHORE   PATROL 


221 


at  a  time,  would  even  run  past  me  within  about  five  feet,  with- 
out being  alarmed.  With  my  single  lens,  an  inch-wide  aper- 
ture of  the  curtain  and  not  very  rapid  speed,  I  exposed  plate 
after  plate,  and  not  long  before  sundown  had  used  up  my 
last  one. 

We  then  crossed  to  the  other  key,  only  a  few  rods  off,  and 


:  GONE    SWEETLY    OFF    INTO    DREAMLAND 


"  camped."  That  is,  we  started  a  fire,  got  supper,  and  hung 
our  mosquito  net  among  the  trees.  After  dark  I  changed 
plates,  and  early  in  the  morning  went  to  work  again.  There 
was  nothing  new,  save  for  the  presence  of  a  splendid  male 
Black-breast  Plover  and  two  Least  Terns  bathing  in  a  pool. 
I  had  to  choose  between  these  subjects  for  the  first  shot.  I 
chose  the  plover,  as  the  shyest  of  the  shore-birds.  The  terns 


222 


WILD   WINGS 


soon  flew  away,  but  I  did  not  regret  the  decision.  In  various 
interesting  and  characteristic  poses,  I  secured  a  dozen  pictures 
of  the  plover,  ending  up  with  a  couple  when  he  had  tired  of 
feeding,  had  drawn  up  one  leg,  put  his  bill  under  his  wing- 
coverts,  and  gone  sweetly  off  into  dreamland.  This  was  glory 
enough  for  one  day,  so,  as  the  wind  had  moderated  some- 
what, we  started  again  on  our  beat  for  Cape  Sable.  Some 
naturalists  who  afterwards  saw  this  picture  were  much  amused 
to  think  that  an  old  Black-bellied  Plover  —  of  all  birds  — 
should  allow  a  man  to  crawl  up  within  ten  feet  and  photo- 
graph him,  and  asleep  at  that ! 


LESSER   YELLOW-LEGS    IN    FLORIDA    POOL 


ANXIOUS    RING-NECKED    PLOVERS.    "WHEN    THEY    CAME   TOGETHER" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

NORTHWARD    WITH    THE    SHORE-BIRD    HOST 

No  mortal  saw  it  go  ;  — 
But  'who  doth  hear 
Its  summer  cheer 
As  itfiitteth  to  and  fro  ? 

HOWITT. 

SWIFT  and  tireless  of  flight,  late  in  May  the  hordes 
of  migrant  shore-birds  are  gone  as  suddenly  as  they 
appeared.    No  one  sees  them  go  ;  probably  the  start 
is  in  the  evening.    But  by  the  time  we  miss  them  they  may 
be  a  thousand  miles  farther  to  the  north,  —  that  is,  when 
they  have  really  decided  to  be  on  the  move.    Previously  they 
may  have  fed  leisurely  along  from  beach  to  beach  and  marsh 
to  marsh,  recuperating  from  their  long  flight  across  southern 
seas.    But  now  the  vernal  influence  sounds  the  clarion  call, 
and  they  forthwith  strike  the  real  limicoline  pace. 

Where  do  they  go?    Less  is  known  about  the  breeding 


224  WILD  WINGS 

haunts  and  habits  of  this  mysterious  tribe  than  of  any  order 
in  the  system  of  ornithology.  While  a  very  few  of  the  species 
linger  on  our  Southern  coasts,  the  great  mass  of  them  push 
on  for  the  far  North.  Nor  do  the  bulk  of  them  stop  till  they 
are  where  the  curiosity  of  man  can  seldom  disturb  their  pri- 
vacy. The  eggs  and  nesting  habits  of  a  number  of  these 
species  are  hardly  known  to  science.  Their  summer  home  is 
the  barren  grounds  along  the  arctic  sea.  In  the  damp  moss 
near  some  pool,  upon  the  cold  ground,  still  frozen  underneath, 
in  the  early  part  of  June  they  scratch  a  slight  hollow,  build 
a  rude,  frail  nest  of  grass,  and  lay  four  eggs,  pyriform,  or 
pear-shaped,  drab-colored,  and  heavily  blotched  \vith  black 
or  brown. 

Somehow,  the  mystery  and  romance  surrounding  the  lives 
of  these  dabblers  in  margins  make  strong  appeal  to  me. 
From  the  time  when  in  boyhood  I  first  heard  the  clear  whistle 
of  the  Yellow-legs  over  the  salt  marshes  and  the  long-drawn, 
plaintive  notes  of  the  plovers  on  the  bay  flats,  or  saw  the 
nimble  band  of  sandpipers  upon  the  ocean  front  chased  by 
the  surf,  I  have  longed  to  know  more  of  them  all.  And, 
though  I  have  not  yet  roamed  quite  within  the  arctic  circle, 
latterly  I  have  been  far  enough  north  to  find  at  least  strag- 
glers from  the  main  body  settled  down  to  breed  under  essen- 
tially arctic  conditions,  and  to  secure  some  photographs  of 
these  birds  from  life,  which  are  probably  the  first  of  such 
ever  made. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  thrill  of  my  first  experience  with 
these  Northerners  in  their  summer  homes.  It  was  on  the 
Magdalen  Islands,  in  the  stormy  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  well 
up  toward  southern  Labrador.  The  day  was  the  thirteenth  of 
June,  clear  and  cold,  the  air  of  the  early  morning  having 
almost  the  sting  of  the  frost.  With  a  companion  and  a  guide 
I  was  exploring  the  extensive  marshy  barrens  of  the  East  Point 


NORTHWARD   WITH   THE   SHORE-BIRDS     225 

ponds  which  Audubon,  some  seventy  years  ago,  vainly  tried 
to  reach.  On  this  my  first  day  upon  these  Northern  islands 
it  was  delightful  that  I  should  be  privileged  to  hear  for  my 
first  time  the  melodious  love-songs  of  those  Northern  shore- 
birds,  the  Wilson's  Snipe  and  the  Least  Sandpiper.  Of  the 
former  I  shall  tell  presently.  In  the  vicinity  of  a  small  pond 
the  little  sandpiper  was  flying  about  in  circles,  now  low,  now 
high  enough  to  be  almost  lost  to  sight.  The  wings  were 
beating  tremulously  under  the  impulses  of  love,  and  the  little 
fellow  was  uttering  a  continuous  mellow  twittering,  very 
pretty  to  hear.  Many  other  shore-birds  have  this  habit ;  it 
may  be  characteristic  of  them  all.  The  love-song  of  the  Wood- 
cock is  an  example,  and  is  comparatively  well  known. 

Separating  now  from  my  companions,  I  had  almost  exceeded 
the  limits  of  my  boot-tops  in  reaching  the  nests  of  some 
Rusty  Crackles  (a  northerly  species)  in  a  strip  of  low  spruces, 
when  I  heard  a  faint  halloo,  and  saw  my  companion  in  the 
distance  eagerly  beckoning.  When  I  reached  him  he  said 
nothing,  but  pointed  down  near  his  feet.  He  was  standing 
just  up  from  a  wet  depression,  in  open,  barren  ground 
which  bore  only  the  coarse,  sparse  grass  and  the  gray  moss 
of  the  arctic  barrens.  Following  his  direction,  I  saw  a  Least 
Sandpiper  trotting  nervously  about  near  us.  Then,  looking 
closer,  I  saw  the  nest.  This  Sandpiper  is  the  smallest  of  the 
"  Peeps"  or  "  Ox-eyes,"  as  they  are  popularly  called,  which 
in  spring  and  fall  flock  upon  our  beaches  and  marshes,  but 
breed  in  the  arctic  regions.  The  nest  was  merely  a  round  hol- 
low scratched  out  in  the  moss  and  lined  with  a  few  dry  bay- 
berry  leaves.  The  eggs  were  four,  as  is  usual  with  shore-birds, 
and  were  arranged  with  the  small  ends  together,  which  is  also 
good  form  in  shore-bird  etiquette.  They  were  of  a  very  dark 
drab  color,  heavily  blotched  with  brown.  My  delight  may  be 
imagined,  as  I  stood  gazing  at  an  exhibition  which  but  few 


226 


WILD  WINGS 


NEST    AND    EGGS   OF    LEAST    SANDPIPER 


naturalists  have  been  privileged  to  see.  It  was  near  this  spot 
that  we  had  just  heard  the  love-song.  What  luck,  thus  soon, 
in  all  this  vast  waste,  to  stumble  upon  its  cause  !  And  here, 
now,  were  both  the  owners.  The  singer  had  heard  the  dis- 
tressed chirping  of  his  mate  and  had  come  down  to  trot 
about  with  her,  though  more  careful  than  she  to  avoid  too 
close  approach  to  danger.  It  was  the  mother  who  showed 
herself  the  really  anxious  one.  At  times  she  would  come  close 
up  beside  us,  throw  herself  prostrate  on  the  moss,  limp,  flut- 
ter, and  drag  herself  as  though  about  to  expire  —  the  familiar 
ruse  of  shore-birds. 

And  now,  of  course,  to  record  by  photography  some  of  this 
rare  scene  was  in  order.  As  luck  would  have  it,  —  perhaps  to 
even  up  matters,  —  this  was  the  only  time  in  my  life  when 


NORTHWARD   WITH   THE  SHORE-BIRDS     227 

I  had  lost  the  tripod  screw.  Not  to  be  beaten,  I  cut  down 
with  my  knife  a  small  spruce,  made  a  stake,  and  drove  it  into 
the  ground  near  the  nest.  With  my  tree-apparatus  I  clamped 
the  camera  to  the  stake  and  was  ready  for  business,  the  first 
part  of  which  was  to  attempt  the  picture  of  the  mother-bird  on 
the  nest.  The  camera  was  properly  focused  and  screened 
with  spruce  boughs ;  then,  with  a  thread  in  hand,  attached  at 
the  other  end  to  the  shutter,  I  lay  flat  on  my  face,  peering 
over  a  dune,  and  waited.  Poor  little  bird,  she  did  not  like 
the  look  of  this  blunderbuss  with  staring  eye  any  more  than 
we  should  that  of  a  cannon  trained  upon  our  front  door. 


LEAST    SANDPIPER    ON    NEST 


228  WILD   WINGS 

Again  and  again  she  approached  almost  to  the  nest,  only  to 
flee  in  dismay.  Finally,  becoming  bolder,  after  twenty  min- 
utes of  this  hesitancy,  without  warning  she  suddenly  fairly 
"  scooted  "  over  the  moss  and  settled  down  upon  her  eggs. 
Snap  went  the  shutter,  and  her  portrait  was  mine.  Instantly 


MOTHER    LEAST   SANDPIPER.     "ALIGHTED    ON    THE    POSTS   AND    WIRE" 

she  darted  off  in  great  fright,  too  much  alarmed  to  venture 
again.  So  I  photographed  the  nest  and  eggs  and  withdrew. 
Four  years  later,  again  in  June,  I  was  back  at  the  Magda- 
lens.  Daily  passing  along  a  road  by  a  fisherman's  house 
revealed  nothing  notable,  until  one  day,  at  the  very  end  of 
our  stay,  one  of  our  party,  passing  this  spot,  was  attracted  by 
the  actions  of  a  pair  of  Least  Sandpipers.  Desperate  with 
anxiety,  they  fluttered  along  the  road  before  him  and  alighted, 
vociferating,  on  the  posts  and  wire  of  the  fence.  Upon  learn- 


NORTHWARD   WITH   THE  SHORE-BIRDS     229 

ing  of  this,  I  came  at  once  and  found  the  birds  acting  as  de- 
scribed, and  alighting  a  good  deal  in  the  adjoining  field  of 
short  grass.  It  was  evident  that  they  had  young,  so  two  of 
us  made  a  thorough  search  for  them.  At  one  place  the  sand- 
pipers were  especially  so- 
licitous, and  here  we  soon 
found  an  egg-shell,  and  pre- 
sently the  whole  brood  of 
four  of  about  the  most  cun- 
ning bird-mites  I  ever  had 
seen.  They  were  of  a  mot- 
tled rich  brown  and  white, 
and  were  squatting  close 
together  amid  some  sparse 
grass,  perfectly  motionless, 
and  so  blending  with  their 
surroundings  that  we  had 
overlooked  them  many 
times.  No  nest  could  be 

found,  and  yet  here  were  the  newly  hatched  young,  too  feeble, 
seemingly,  to  have  travelled  but  a  few  steps. 

This  was  a  prize  indeed,  a  splendid  complement  for  my 
other  Least  Sandpiper  pictures,  —  for  they  were  of  this  spe- 
cies. After  photographing  them,  I  placed  the  camera  so  as  to 
secure  a  picture  of  the  mother  brooding.  She  would  not  ven- 
ture, and  the  brood  was  becoming  chilled  in  the  raw  evening 
air,  so  I  removed  the  camera,  and  in  a  few  seconds  they  were 
under  mother's  wing.  Next  morning  I  readily  found  the  brood 
again  in  the  same  field,  stronger  now,  and  running  about 
singly.  The  old  ones  were  as  demonstrative  as  ever,  and 
with  my  reflex  camera,  set  with  the  single  member  of  my 
big  double  anastigmat,  I  secured  pictures  of  the  female  upon 
stub,  fence,  and  ground,  and  also  of  single  young.  That  after- 


YOUNG   LEAST    SANDPIPERS    AS    FIRST    FOUND 


23o  WILD  WINGS 

noon  they  were  gone,  and  in  the  evening*  I  saw  the  old  birds 
a  third  of  a  mile  away  on  a  salt  marsh,  whither  they  had 
evidently  led  their  brood. 

Besides  the  breeding  Horned  Grebes,  Bitterns,  Red-breasted 
Mergansers,  Black  Ducks,  Blue-bills,  and  Teal  of  these  inter- 
esting East  Point  ponds,  another  striking  phenomenon  is  the 
gyration  and  "  love-song "  of  the  Wilson's  Snipe.  This  is 
the  bird  so  dear  to  sportsmen,  here  breeding  quite  commonly. 
We  first  heard  a  sweet  winnowing  or  twittering  sound  some- 
where above  us,  reminding  one  of  the  sound  of  the  wings 
of  the  Golden-eye  Duck,  or  "  Whistler,"  in  flight.  Though 
we  strain  our  eyes  in  scanning  the  blue  vault,  nothing  is  at 
first  visible.  Finally  we  see  what  looks  like  a  speck  of  a  bird, 
so  high  up  is  it.  The  wings  move  rapidly,  and  with  great 
velocity  it  darts  about  in  wide  circles,  far  and  wide,  high  and 
low.  It  may  at  length  dash  close  down  over  our  heads,  utter- 
ing now  a  continuous  vocal  alarm-note,  somewhat  after  the 
style  of  the  Cooper's  Hawk.  The  first  thing  we  know  it  will 
alight  pell-mell  upon  the  topmost  twig  of  a  spruce,  whence  it 
will  continue  its  sharp  vociferation,  or  stand  for  a  while  in 
silence,  when  it  may  start  off  again  on  another  ten-mile  flight. 
When  an  intruder  approaches  the  nest,  both  birds  will  fly 
about  in  this  erratic  manner. 

The  nest  is  hard  to  find,  and  I  have  tramped  and  tramped, 
searching  for  it  in  vain.  But  this  season  one  of  our  party 
undertook  to  watch  a  pair  of  snipe  from  a  hiding-place.  In 
the  course  of  half  an  hour  he  saw  one  of  them  alight  in  the 
grass  on  the  edge  of  a  sort  of  marshy  bayou,  back  from 
a  large  pond.  Waiting  a  few  moments,  he  walked  up  and 
soon  flushed  the  bird  a  few  rods  from  where  she  had 
alighted.  On  damp  ground,  amid  a  tract  of  low  bushes  and 
sparse  grass,  was  the  long-sought  nest,  containing  four  dark- 
colored,  mottled  eggs,  rounder  and  less  pointed  than  the  eggs 


NORTHWARD   WITH   THE  SHORE-BIRDS     231 

of  most  other  shore-birds,  —  for  the  snipe  is  classed  among 
shore-birds,  or  Limicolae.  The  date  was  the  eighteenth  of 
June. 

After  duly  photographing  the  nest  and  eggs,  both  snipes 
meanwhile  flying  excitedly  about  overhead,  I  prepared  the 
camera  for  a  possible  picture  of  the  mother  snipe  upon  the 
nest  at  close  range.  When  all  was  ready,  the  camera  being 
set  upon  the  ground  only  a  yard  from  the  nest,  I  laid  the 
line  of  connecting  thread  clear  across  the  bayou,  where  I  hid 
under  some  low  spruces  to  watch.  One  snipe  only  seemed  to 
be  flying  about,  and  there  was  no  way  of  telling  whether  the 
other  had  returned  to  the  nest  but  to  creep  up  and  look. 
Before  doing  this,  however,  I  rejoined  the  party  who  were 
eating  lunch  up  on  a  sand-dune.  After  nearly  an  hour's 
absence,  I  crept  silently  to  my  spool  and  pulled  at  a  venture, 
not  knowing  whether  or  not  the  bird  was  on  the  nest.  As 
the  sky  was  somewhat  overcast,  I  had  set  the  shutter  for  one 
second,  trusting  that  the  snipe  might  be  dozing  on  the  nest 
and  would  not  move.  Then  I  silently  tiptoed  over  to  where  I 
could  learn  my  fate.  There  was  the  blessed  snipe  at  her  vigil, 
facing  the  camera,  head  low  and  bill  resting  on  the  ground. 

She  made  no  move  to  start  till  I  was  within  ten  feet  of  her, 
when  she  fluttered  reluctantly  away  and  dropped  down  on 
the  bank  close  at  hand,  beside  a  spruce  thicket,  where  she 
lay  flapping  her  wings  much  as  does  a  nighthawk  under 
similar  circumstances,  reiterating  the  familiar  "  scaip  "  note, 
that  every  gunner  knows.  Then  for  half  a  minute  she  lay 
still,  as  though  dead,  but  soon  stood  up,  ran  a  little  way,  and 
flew  quickly  off.  So  tame  was  she  that  she  returned  to  the 
nest  in  my  very  presence,  before  I  was  ready  for  the  next 
shot.  Driving  her  off,  I  set  the  shutter  again  and  took  my 
station  under  a  spruce  about  twenty  feet  away.  In  just  four 
minutes  I  saw  her  alight  near  by,  and  in  another  minute  she 


232  WILD  WINGS 

had  settled  down  upon  her  eggs,  this  time  side  to  the  camera. 
A  steady  pull  on  the  string  gave  me  a  splendid  timed  expos- 
ure, the  bird  not  moving  at  the  click  of  the  shutter.  After 
being  flushed  again  she  would  not  return  for  a  while,  but 
I  finally  got  two  more  pictures  before  a  shower  started  us 
back  for  the  boat,  myself  delighted  that  I  had  succeeded, 
probably  for  the  first  time  in  history,  in  photographing  Wil- 
son's Snipe  from  life.  Episodes  like  this  are  what,  to  my 
mind,  make  camera-hunting  the  finest  of  all  sports.  There 
are  still  many  birds  and  mammals  which  have  never  yet 
been  photographed.  But  even  when  a  species,  as  such, 
has  been  photographed,  there  is  well-nigh  as  great  a  field 
remaining  as  in  human  portraiture  after  the  first  man  had 
been  successfully  photographed ! 

In  1900,  during  a  boating-trip  to  these  islands,  I  happened 
upon  a  locality  where,  along  with  Piping  Plovers  and  Spotted 
Sandpipers,  there  was  quite  a  colony  of  Ring-necked  Plovers, 
evidently  breeding.  These  plovers,  so  common  upon  our  flats 
and  beaches  during  the  migrations,  breed,  usually,  in  the 
arctic  regions,  but  here  they  were,  at  the  southern  limit  of 
their  range.  Two  parallel  sand-bars  connecting  two  "  islands  " 
here  form  between  them  a  natural  canal  or  lagoon  over  a  mile 
in  width,  with  sandy  shores,  and  grassy  dunes  between  these 
and  the  outer  sea-beaches.  The  plover-ground  was  on  the 
eastern  shore  of  this  lagoon.  Numbers  of  the  pretty  plovers 
kept  trotting  along  the  sand  in  front  of  us,  evidently  anxious 
about  their  nests  or  young.  These,  unfortunately,  we  were 
unable  to  discover,  owing  to  lack  of  time  to  prosecute  the 
search.  The  fact  of  seeing  a  young  Piping  Plover  led  me  to 
believe  that  the  more  northerly  species  also  had  young. 

Upon  my  recent  return  to  the  Magdalens,  I  made  it  a  point 
to  devote  a  whole  day  to  this  locality.  It  was  the  very  same 
time  of  year  as  before,  the  twentieth  of  June,  clear,  and  almost 


NORTHWARD   WITH   THE   SHORE-BIRDS     235 

freezing  cold.  A  blustering  northwest  wind  lashed  the  bays 
into  white-caps  and  made  the  lobster-boat  skim  along  the 
wide  lagoon  like  a  shearwater.  We  first  landed  on  the  side 
opposite  the  plover  resort,  where  was  a  series  of  ponds  simi- 
lar to  those  of  East  Point,  where  we  hoped  to  find  a  variety 
of  shore-birds.  Numbers  of  Least  Sandpipers  were  feeding, 
singly  or  in  pairs,  along  the  margins  of  the  lakelets,  with 
a  few  of  the  Ring-necks.  It  was  so  cold  that  I  had  fairly  to 
run  to  get  warm,  after  the  cold  sail  in  the  boat,  as  I  beat 
about  in  hope  of  flushing  a  sandpiper,  snipe,  or  wild  duck 
from  its  nest.  One  of  the  company  came  racing  and  puffing 
after  me,  saying  he  was  having  a  hard  time  to  catch  up.  All 
we  found  was  the  nest  of  a  Horned  Grebe  out  in  some  reeds  in 
quite  deep  water.  It  seemed  natural  on  such  a  cold  day  to 
see  a  flock  of  Common  Crossbills  feeding  among  the  spruces. 

We  ate  dinner  behind  some  sand-dunes  above  the  beach, 
and  then  squared  away  for  the  home  of  the  plovers,  some 
two  miles  over  the  sparkling  water.  As  we  approached,  we 
were  sorry  to  see  several  men  and  boys  with  pails  walking 
about  over  the  stretch  of  sand  and  grass,  followed  by  an 
angry  company  of  hovering  terns.  They  proved  to  be  French 
fishermen,  gathering  eggs  for  food.  The  Ring-necked  Plovers 
were  here,  as  before,  running  anxiously  about  along  the 
sandy  margin,  and  I  feared  that  we  were  too  late.  When  the 
men  showed  us  what  they  had  found,  I  was  glad  to  see  that, 
besides  the  terns'  eggs,  they  had  taken  but  one  set  of  four 
eggs  of  the  Piping  Plover. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  these  fellows  might  aid  us  in  our 
search.  They  could  not  speak  a  word  of  English,  and  I 
imagine  that  their  French  dialect  was  none  of  the  purest. 
However,  we  unlimbered  our  college  French  as  best  we 
could.  Each  sally  brought  forth  a  roar  of  laughter  from  the 
rest  of  the  party,  as  the  air  became  redolent  with  phrases 


236  WILD  WINGS 

about  "  les  petits  oeufs."  Finally  we  made  the  Frenchmen 
understand  that  we  would  give  them  ten  cents  for  every  plov- 
er's nest  —  not  Spotted  Sandpiper's  —  they  would  find  us. 
It  did  not  take  long  to  begin.  One  of  them  soon  shouted 
and  beckoned.  We  hurried  over,  and,  sure  enough,  there 
was  the  first  nest  of  the  Ring-necked  Plover  that  I  had  ever 
seen,  with  four  handsome  eggs,  more  pointed  than  those  of 
the  Piping  Plover  and  much  more  heavily  marked,  resemb- 
ling in  that  respect  terns'  eggs.  It  was  just  up  from  the 
wide  sand-flat  shore,  at  the  edge  of  the  sparse  grass,  a  mere 
hollow  in  the  sand  with  a  few  straws  laid  around  it.  The 
owners  were  trotting  around  on  the  flat  or  flying  back  and 
forth,  uttering  their  familiar  alarm-note.  While  we  were 
photographing  this  nest,  the  Frenchmen  found  another 
a  little  farther  back  among  the  dunes,  and  thus  they  kept  us 
busy  —  photographing  and  handing  out  dimes.  One  of  our 
party  also  discovered  a  nest  of  the  Red-breasted  Merganser, 
containing  six  eggs.  It  was  situated  in  the  thick  grass  of 
a  marshy  depression.  The  bird,  in  leaving,  had  drawn  the 
grass  skilfully  over  the  eggs. 

Meanwhile  another  friend  had  found  and  caught  a  young 
Ring-neck,  a  cunning,  little  striped  thing  that  could  run  like 
a  witch.  Presently,  farther  along,  I  also  captured  a  plover- 
chick  belonging  to  another  pair  of  the  birds.  These  were 
so  extremely  solicitous,  as  they  limped  and  fluttered  about, 
that  I  conceived  an  idea  which  I  at  once  put  into  practice. 
Tethering  the  youngster  to  a  blade  of  grass  out  on  the  dry, 
open  sand,  to  keep  it  from  running  away,  I  sat  down  with 
my  reflex  camera  not  more  than  two  or  three  paces  from 
the  young  bird.  Then  I  had  some  camera-shooting  that  was 
worth  while.  Both  the  plovers  were  pattering  close  around 
me.  When  they  came  together,  I  would  get  them  both  on 
one  plate. 


NORTHWARD   WITH   THE  SHORE-BIRDS     237 

Owing  to  the  wind  and  cold,  the  chick  needed  brooding, 
and  the  devoted  little  mother  was  not  slow  to  respond.  In 
a  few  moments,  finding  that  I  kept  still  and  did  not  hurt  her, 
she  came  up  and  nestled  down  on  the  sand  close  beside  her 


RING-NECKED    PLOVER   AND  YOUNG.    "THE    LITTLE    FELLOW   SCURRIED    IN 
UNDER   THE   MATERNAL    BREAST  " 


darling,  and  the  little  fellow  scurried  in  under  the  maternal 
breast.  Now  and  then  she  ran  off,  but  soon  returned,  stood 
beside  the  chick,  and  then  cuddled  it  some  more.  Meanwhile 
I  was  working  the  camera  assiduously,  photographing  her 
and  her  mate  in  all  sorts  of  attitudes,  securing  thereby  an 
uncommonly  interesting  series  of  eighteen  pictures  —  and 
using  up  my  last  plate. 


238 


WILD  WINGS 


It  is  dangerous  for  the  camera-hunter  in  such  a  rich  game- 
country  to  be  without  reserve  plates.  This  I  realized  keenly 
enough  when,  as  we  sailed  back,  away  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
lagoon,  we  passed  close  by  a  mother  Black  Duck,  with  her 
brood  of  eight  small  ducklings,  all  bravely  paddling  for  the 
rather  distant  shore.  We,  too,  were  shoreward  bound,  though 
on  a  longer  voyage.  The  cold  beam  wind  drove  us  on,  and 
when  the  western  sky  was  rosy  with  the  sunset,  we  rounded 
the  bold  red-sandstone  promontory,  soon  to  wade  ashore  and 
with  happy  talk  of  the  successful  day's  excursion,  encum- 
bered with  big  boots  and  cameras,  trudge  to  the  fisher's 
cottage  up  on  the  wind-swept  headland  of  the  cold  Northern 
isle,  with  its  bare  slopes  and  stunted  spruces. 


•  - .  . .-  • 

NEST   AND    EGGS   OF    RING-NECKED    PLOVER 


AMERICAN    OYSTER-CATCHER    ON    NEST 


CHAPTER  XIV 


SHORE-BIRD    LOITERERS 


Thou  calVst  along  the  sand  and  haunt 'st  the  surge. 

DANA. 

SOMEHOW  shore-birds  in  their  very  nature  seem  to 
belong  to  the  far  North.    This,   of  course,  is  but  the 
imagining   of  a   New  Englander  accustomed   to  see 
them  mainly  as  swiftly  moving  travellers,  advancing  persist- 
ently toward  the  arctic  or  fleeing  reluctantly  before  its  cold. 
Their  quick  movements,  restless  manner,  and  great  powers  of 
flight  all  fit  in  with  their  impulse  toward  the  frozen  barrens, 
until  one  feels  the  boreal  in  their  very  aspect. 

Yet  there  are  species,  equally  capable  of  extended  flight 
with  this  hardy  majority,  whose  members  are  content  with 


240  WILD   WINGS 

Southern  shores  and  summer  sands.  Hence  there  is  no 
secluded  sea-beach  or  marsh  from  Texas  to  the  polar  sea 
but  what  may  provide  for  the  bird-lover  or  sportsman  the 
exhilaration  of  the  mellow,  piping  whistle  of  some  shore- 
bird  voice  and  the  sight  of  nimble  forms  racing  with  the 
waves,  or,  on  quick-beating  wings,  circling  out  over  the 
water.  To  me  such  a  shore  is  a  hundred-fold  more  interest- 
ing than  those  which  man  has  preempted  with  his  tinsel 
hotels  and  their  accessories.  The  margin  of  the  sea  with 
real  shore-bird  possibilities  is  a  distinct  type  of  its  own ; 
I  can  tell  it  at  a  glance,  and  often  travel  far  to  enjoy  it. 
To  the  shipwrecked  mariner  it  is  a  cruel  desolation,  but  to  me 
it  is  an  inspiration  and  delight.  To  find  it  in  all  its  varieties 
I  have  journeyed  to  the  north  where  chilling  winds  and  ice- 
cold  waves  lashed  the  stern  profile  of  the  land,  and  wandered 
south  where  soft  zephyrs  and  tepid  waters  offered  their  blan- 
dishments. 

One  of  the  loiterers  which  has  particularly  interested  me  is 
the  American  Oyster-catcher.  It  is  a  striking  species,  nearly 
as  large  as  a  crow,  —  indeed,  it  is  sometimes  locally  called 
"  Sea-crow,"  —  with  conspicuous  black  and  white  plumage 
and  a  large,  red,  knife-shaped  bill.  I  have  seen  it  at  its  best 
on  the  outer  Sea  Islands  of  the  Carolina  coast.  There  it  is 
found  on  nearly  every  lonely  beach  with  its  area  of  shells, 
seaweed,  and  dry  sand  above  the  reach  of  the  tide.  Especially 
dear  to  it  are  the  tiny  islands  which  at  high  water  are  nothing 
but  narrow  strips  of  hummocky  sand,  almost  washed  over 
by  the  waves  in  ordinary  times,  and  inevitably  in  storms. 
Late  in  April,  or  in  early  May,  the  female  scratches  a  hollow 
on  the  highest  mound  of  sand  and  deposits  large  spotted 
eg§"s  —  n°t  four,  as  do  most  shore-birds,  but  only  two,  like 
the  buzzards  that  wheel  overhead,  or  the  Red-tailed  Hawk 
that  nests  back  in  the  forest. 


SHORE-BIRD    LOITERERS  241 

We  anchor  the  yacht  well  off  and  go  ashore  in  the  flat- 
bottomed  tender.  No  sooner  do  we  land  than  we  see  two  or 
four  of  the  Oyster-catchers  pattering  along  ahead  of  us.  Then 
a  pair  take  to  wing  and  dash  by  us,  at  some  distance,  across 
the  sand  and  out  over  the  water,  uttering  piercing  cries  that 
call  up  floods  of  shore-bird  memories.  Everywhere  we  go  we 
shall  have  oyster-catcher  company,  until  we  leave  the  place. 
The  eggs  are  lying  exposed  to  view  on  the  open  sand,  hatched 
largely  in  the  daytime  by  the  warm  southern  solar  rays.  They 
are  not  hard  to  find,  if  only  one  traverse  the  sand-bar  faith- 
fully and  keep  his  eyes  always  alert. 

Except  in  the  breeding-season,  the  Oyster-catcher  is  a  most 
wary  bird,  and  even  at  that  time  it  is  shy  enough.  To  photo- 
graph it  is  a  matter  of  extreme  difficulty.  It  will  not  allow 


-, 


ID/, 

'</'-£•> 


NEST    AND    EGGS   OF   OYSTER-CATCHER 


242  WILD  WINGS 

one  to  approach  it,  and  as  for  placing  a  camera  at  its  nest,  it 
will  seldom  go  near  the  nest  in  the  daytime.  At  times  I  have 
set  the  camera  and  waited  for  hours  for  the  forlorn  hope. 
Once,  however,  I  was  successful,  and  I  shall  narrate  the  man- 
ner thereof. 

On  one  of  these  island  sand-bars  I  had  discovered  the  two 
eggs  of  an  Oyster-catcher  in  a  hollow  of  the  sand.  We  were 
to  anchor  there  overnight,  and  I  was  ardent  to  achieve  a 
photographic  feat  which  I  believed  had  never  been  accom- 
plished. The  only  thing  to  be  done  that  night  was  to  place 
a  small  pile  of  driftweed  close  to  the  nest,  to  accustom  the  birds 
to  it.  Morning  came,  clear  and  hot.  First  I  removed  the  pile, 
placed  the  camera  there  upon  the  carrying-case,  and  carefully 
focused  it  on  the  eggs.  Then  I  covered  it  up  with  the  cloth 
and  with  the  debris,  trying  to  make  everything  look  about 
as  before.  Two  hundred  paces  away  was  a  great  drift-log  of 
pine.  My  long  spool  of  thread,  attached  to  the  ready  shutter, 
would  just  reach  it.  We  dug  out  a  slight  hollow  in  the  sand 
close  alongside  of  the  log  and  behind  it,  in  which  I  lay  flat, 
my  head  raised  on  my  large  camera  so  that  I  could  just  peer 
over  the  log.  I  had  on  a  brown  hunting  suit,  matching  well 
with  the  bark,  and  my  companions,  besprinkling  me  with 
sand  to  heighten  the  deception,  left  me  and  embarked  upon 
the  yacht,  as  though  the  whole  party  had  gone.  In  one  hand 
I  held  my  opera-glasses ;  the  thread  was  handy,  and  I  began 
my  vigil  of  broiling  on  the  blistering  sand  under  the  brazen 
Southern  sky. 

The  deception  was  complete.  The  birds  saw  the  party  off 
in  approved  oyster-catcher  style,  and  then,  relieved  of  all 
anxiety,  settled  down  to  their  usual  ways  of  life.  They  fed 
along  the  beach  a  bit,  but  breakfast  had  already  been  served, 
and  they  were  not  hungry.  Soon  they  trotted  up  on  the  dry 
sand  and  took  their  station  about  thirty  yards  from  me.  They 


SHORE-BIRD    LOITERERS  243 

preened  their  feathers  ;  now  they  stood  lovingly  side  by  side  ; 
then  they  walked  around  a  bit,  came  within  ten  yards  of  me, 
tripped  over  the  thread,  continued  their  stroll,  then  came  back. 
Now  and  then  one  of  them,  probably  the  female,  would  patter 
down  to  the  region  of  the  eggs,  to  see  that  they  were  all  right, 
and  then  run  back  to  its  mate.  As  they  trotted  around  me, 
they  seemed  to  gaze  at  me  intently,  and  yet  apparently  did 
not  realize  that  I  was  anything  more  than  another  piece  of 
wood. 

This  was  all  very  pretty,  but  I  was  becoming  terribly  un- 
comfortable. My  neck  felt  at  the  breaking  point,  my  back 
sore,  and  my  skin  fairly  broiled,  yet  the  Oyster-catcher  seemed 
to  have  no  thought  of  incubating  during  the  livelong  day.  An 
hour  and  a  half  passed  slowly  by,  when  the  bird  took  another 
run  and  happened  to  go  close  by  the  camera.  For  the  first 
time  she  noticed  that  something  unusual  was  there.  She  ran 
off  and  brought  her  mate,  and  the  two  looked  the  thing  over, 
and  played  hot  and  cold,  as  they  say.  Finally  the  female 
seemed  to  think  that  the  eggs  might  be  getting  cooked  in 
the  sun,  and  that  she  had  better  shade  them  a  bit.  She  went 
almost  to  them,  and  ran  away  from  the  dreadful  lens.  This 
was  done  half  a  dozen  times,  and  then  what  did  the  pair 
do  but  saunter  off  to  the  other  end  of  the  island !  I  feared  all 
was  up  with  my  little  enterprise.  But  after  some  moments 
the  mother  bird  came  paddling  back.  I  was  so  far  away  that 
I  could  not  see  the  eggs,  but  when  she  squatted  down  close 
in  front  of  the  camera,  I  knew  she  must  be  over  them.  Just 
as  I  started  to  pull  the  string,  her  fears  overcame  her  and  off 
she  went.  It  took  ten  minutes  more  of  manoeuvring  before 
she  again  took  her  position  upon  the  nest-hollow,  side  to  the 
camera.  As  quickly  as  possible  I  drew  the  thread  taut.  At 
the  click  of  the  shutter  she  leaped  in  terror,  and  away  she  ran 
with  her  mate  far  from  the  danger.  The  game  was  up,  and 


244  WILD   WINGS 

I  returned  to  the  yacht  and  set  sail,  but  I  confess  to  a  pardon- 
able pride  in  the  fruit  of  that  endeavor. 

On  that  same  sand-bar  was  another  pair  of  Oyster-catchers, 
but  I  could  find  no  nest.  When  I  returned  a  week  later,  — 
the  middle  of  May  it  was,  —  some  hunters,  who  had  just  been 
ashore  there,  told  me  they  had  seen  a  large  young  Oyster- 
catcher  running  about,  had  caught  it,  after  a  hard  chase, 
and  then  had  let  it  go.  This  was  at  night,  and  next  morning 
I  thought  I  would  find  and  photograph  the  youngster.  Two  of 
us  hunted  that  strip  of  barren  sand  from  end  to  end  without 
being  able  to  detect  a  sign  of  the  object  of  our  search.  Where 
could  it  be  ?  There  was  not  a  blade  of  grass  to  hide  it,  nothing 
whatever,  and  we  had  examined,  we  thought,  every  foot. 
Once  more  we  canvassed  the  ground,  with  the  same  result. 
We  were  back  almost  to  the  point  of  the  bar,  off  which  lay 
the  yacht.  There  were  still  fifty  yards  of  smooth,  wet  sand, 
absolutely  bare,  —  no,  except  a  little  insignificant  wisp  of  drift- 
weed  at  the  water's  edge,  as  big  as  my  hand.  Of  course  it 
was  of  no  use  to  walk  farther.  But  somehow  it  came  into  my 
head  to  go  out  and  look  at  that  seaweed.  Lo  and  behold,  if 
there  did  not  lie  the  young  Oyster-catcher  flat  on  the  sand, 
absolutely  motionless !  The  bird  was  about  as  large  as  the 
seaweed,  and  it  was  as  pretty  a  piece  of  hiding  as  I  had  ever 
seen. 

The  young  rascal  never  moved  a  feather  while  it  was 
being  photographed.  But  when  I  thought  to  take  it  stand- 
ing, we  had  a  long,  hard  tussle.  Finally  I  conquered  by  sheer 
persistency,  putting  my  cap  over  it  and  removing  it  sud- 
denly, to  snap.  When  I  let  it  go,  it  was  comical  to  see 
those  long,  stout  legs  measure  off  the  rods  over  that  sand 
toward  its  fond  parents,  apparently  shouting,  —  in  gesture, 
if  not  in  voice,  —  "  Mamma,  mamma,  here 's  your  little 
oyster-cracker  coming  like  a  good  one."  The  whole  per- 


SHORE-BIRD    LOITERERS 


245 


formance  completely  upset  the  gravity  of  our  company, 
and  the  climax  was  reached  when  the  next  morning  I  com- 
plained that  my  head  was  so  sore  I  had  hardly  slept.  Our 
medical  member  was  amazed  that  a  man  who  had  gone  bare- 
headed for  an  hour  in  that  blazing  sun  after  a  South  Caro- 
lina "  oyster-cracker "  should  be  surprised  that  his  head 
was  sore ! 

On  the  same  beaches  with  the  Oyster-catcher  we  shall  find 
the  Wilson's  Plover,  a  demure  little  fellow,  gray  above  like 
the  shingle  on  which  he  runs,  with  a  dark  band  across  his 
white  breast.  There  is  nothing  spectacular  or  assertive  about 
him,  as  with  the  big  Oyster-catcher.  He  blends  well  with  the 


YOUNG    OYSTER-CATCHER 


246  WILD   WINGS 

quiet  of  the  summer  sea  and  the  gentle  Southern  zephyrs, 
with  which  his  plaintive  and  not  conspicuous  mellow  flute- 
note  harmonizes  in  the  pleasing  and  quieting  andante  maes- 
toso. Superficially  he  is  close  of  kin  to  the  Semipalmated 
Plover,  our  familiar  "  Ring-neck,"  and  at  first  glance  might 
be  mistaken  for  it.  But  closer  acquaintance  dispels  the  illu- 
sion. There  is  less  of  dash  and  restlessness  in  this  Southern 
"  Ring-neck,"  else  he  too  might  seek  the  arctic  with  his 
cousin.  Coloration,  too,  conforms  to  this  impression  of  charac- 
ter, in  that  blacks  are  modulated  to  grays.  The  bill,  though, 
is  larger,  tracing  a  line  of  special  kinship  with  the  large 
Black-bellied  Plover,  or  "  Beetle-head." 

While  the  eggs  of  the  Oyster-catcher,  owing  to  their  size, 
are  rather  easy  to  find,  it  requires  careful  searching  to  find 
those  of  our  little  plover.  Singularly  they  are  but  three, 
though  the  allied  Ring-neck  and  Piping  Plover  lay  four,  - 
another  hint  at  his  general  moderation  of  temperament.  The 
nest-spot  is  merely  a  hollow  scratched  in  the  dry  shingle 
above  the  beach,  usually  where  there  are  pebbles  and  shells, 
sometimes,  however,  under  a  weed  or  low  shrub.  In  marking 
and  coloration  they  blend  wonderfully  with  their  surround- 
ings, and  one  must  look  sharp  to  see  them.  I  remember  well 
finding  the  nest  with  the  usual  three  eggs  on  a  stretch  of 
gravelly  shingle  on  a  sandy  key  off  the  coast  of  South  Caro- 
lina, and  having  occasion  to  find  it  again  to  photograph  it, 
in  a  hurry  at  that,  as  the  party  were  impatient  to  proceed  on 
the  cruise,  I  found  myself  for  quite  a  while  completely  baffled. 
I  should  have  given  up,  but  for  the  exasperation  at  my  blind- 
ness which  made  me  determined  to  find  it.  When  my  eyes, 
at  length,  separated  the  eggs  from  the  stones,  I  realized  that 
I  had  passed  it  a  score  of  times. 

One  of  my  prettiest  experiences  with  my  sedate  little  friend 
was  when  cruising  among  the  Florida  Keys.  We  had  landed 


SHORE-BIRD   LOITERERS 


247 


upon  one  with  a  shore  of  shell-sand,  having  seen  from  the 
vessel  that  behind  the  fringe  of  mangroves  along  the  outer 
beach  was  a  little  lake.  An  occasional  flutter  of  white  wings 
made  us  all  the  more  curious.  The  sight  which  greeted  us  as 
we  peered  through  the  low  mangrove  bushes  was  one  I  would 


NEST   AND    EGGS   OF    WILSON'S    PLOVER 


go  far  again  to  see.  On  a  projecting  point  of  the  sandy  shore 
was  a  colony  of  about  fifty  pairs  of  the  Least  Tern.  The 
females  were  incubating,  and  the  males  preening  their  feathers 
on  the  sand  near  by  or  along  the  margin,  their  pearl  and 
white  plumage  showing  off  prettily  against  the  pulverized 
shells  and  the  lapping  water.  Scattered  here  and  there  were 
little  gray  Wilson's  Plovers  quietly  feeding  along  the  shore 
or  resting  on  the  sand.  Out  in  the  shallow  water,  conspicuous 


248  WILD  WINGS 

by  their  position,  on  long,  stilt-like  legs,  stood  several  birds  of 
a  kind  I  had  never  seen  before  in  my  life,  another  Southern 
loiterer,  the  Black-necked  Stilt.  How  gracefully  they  waded 
about,  probing  the  muddy  bottom  for  worms  or  mollusks  with 
their  long,  sensitive  bills !  A  flock  of  small  migrating  sand- 
pipers, probably  the  Semipalmated,  were  also  feeding  along 
the  edge. 

Of  course  the  terns'  nests  were  easily  discovered,  hollows 
in  the  sand,  quite  near  together,  usually  containing  two  eggs. 
But  it  took  considerable  searching  to  locate  four  nests  of  the 
plover,  now  out  on  the  sand,  then  in  the  shelter  of  a  weedy 
clump  or  under  the  thin  shade  of  the  straggling  mangroves. 
At  the  very  outset  we  stumbled  upon  a  nest  of  four  eggs  of 
the  stilt,  and  presently  found  another  with  three.  They  were 
each  in  the  sand  back  a  little  from  the  water,  the  first  by  the 
curious,  spreading  root  of  a  red  mangrove,  the  other  near 
some  weeds.  The  hollow  in  each  case  was  prettily  lined  with 
bits  of  shell  and  a  few  weed-stems.  I  wish  I  could  have 
stayed  there  alone  to  study  and  photograph  these  pretty 
life-scenes.  The  presence  of  a  party  of  men  talking  and 
tramping  around  throws  birds  of  such  timid  nature  into 
a  state  of  panic.  One  needs  to  be  somewhat  of  a  hermit  in 
taste  to  get  the  most  and  best  out  of  such  surroundings.  Yet 
we  are  social  beings,  and  the  thought  of  life  alone  on  a  lonely 
key  in  Barnes's  Sound,  scores  of  miles  from  human  aid, 
persecuted  day  and  night  by  horrid  swarms  of  venomous 
insects,  is  not  altogether  attractive. 

There  is  a  class  of  shore-birds  intermediate  between  the 
boreal  and  south-temperate  extremes  of  their  order.  Though 
not  reaching  the  far  north,  they  yet  penetrate  within  the 
Canadian  boundary,  and  also  breed  far  south,  as  well  as 
at  intermediate  points ;  such  are  the  Long-billed  Curlew, 
the  Great  Marbled  Godwit,  the  Bartramian  Sandpiper  or 


SHORE-BIRD   LOITERERS 


249 


Upland  Plover,  the  Killdeer  Plover,  the  Spotted  Sandpiper, 
and  the  Willet.  I  shall  here  write  of  only  the  last  two  of 
these  comparative  loiterers,  because  I  have  secured  life  photo- 
graphs of  them. 

No  shore-bird  is  more    widely  known  than  the  Spotted 


SCENE  ON  THE  WILLET  KEY.   PAIR  OF  WILLETS  AND  A 
WILSON'S  PLOVER 

Sandpiper,  or  "  Teeter,"  the  little  bird  that  frequents  the 
farm,  and  lays  its  four  pointed  eggs  among  the  crops,  being 
satisfied  with  any  watery  margin,  whether  it  be  of  brook, 
pool,  lake,  or  ocean.  I  have  found  almost  numberless  nests, 
from  the  far  south  to  the  Magdalen  Islands,  in  all  sorts  of 
situations.  Especially  on  small  islands,  indifferently  on  fresh 
or  salt  water,  they  breed  in  what  amounts  to  scattering  colo- 
nies, dozens  of  pairs  to  a  few  hundred  acres.  Place  the  camera 


250 


WILD   WINGS 


SPOTTED   SANDPIPER   SETTLING    OVER    EGGS 


by  a  nest  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  mother  will  come  timidly 

back  and  allow  you,  if  you 
keep  well  out  of  sight,  to 
take  her  picture  by  thread 
or  bulb-release  process.  The 
young  are  quaint  little 
things,  and  will  be  found 
scurrying  before  one  in 
most  unexpected  places, 
their  fond  mother  showing 
great  solicitude  for  them. 

And  the  Willet  —  what  a 
singular  piece  of  self-asser- 
tion in  the  bird-world  he  is, 
at  least  in  the  nesting-sea- 
son !  The  name  of  "  Humility,"  by  which  the  species  is  often 
locally  known,  seems  ironical  at  that  time.  I  have  studied 
Willets  by  pools  on  the  Western  prairies,  on  marshes  of  the 
Canadian  Maritime  Provinces,  on  marshes  and  islands  of 
the  Southern  coast,  and  find 
it  ever  the  same.  No  sooner 
does  one  approach  the 
boundaries  of  the  great 
tract  which  it  has  preempted 
for  nesting  or  for  the  feed- 
ing of  its  young  than  one 
or  both  members  of  the 
pair  dash  aggressively  at 
the  intruder,  angrily  shriek- 
ing out  its  "yelp,  yelp,  pill- 
willet,  pill-willet."  Each  bird 
alights  upon  the  ground  or 
some  stake  or  stub,  watch- 


WILLET.  "I  INVEIGLED  HIM  INTO 
ALIGHTING" 


SHORE-BIRD   LOITERERS 


253 


ing,  and  never  stopping  its  scolding.  Then,  with  redoubled 
outcry,  it  dashes  off  again  for  another  furious  onslaught.  If 
one  can  handle  a  reflecting  camera  deftly,  here  is  a  fine 
chance  for  a  picture  in  flight.  On  a  marsh  of  a  Virginia  coast 


NEST    AND    EGGS   OF   WILLET 


island  I  secured  a  fine  series  of  Willet  pictures  by  placing 
the  camera  on  the  tripod  under  a  bush,  focused  on  the  top 
twigs  of  a  stub  upon  which  I  noticed  that  the  angry  Willet 
repeatedly  alighted,  and  hiding  well  off  in  the  grass  with 
the  connecting  thread  in  hand.  Of  course  the  provoking 
bird  would  alight  on  some  other  stub  or  go  off,  and  require 
further  stirring  up  on  my  part.  But  during  the  afternoon  I 


254  WILD  WINGS 

inveigled  it  into  alighting  half  a  dozen  different  times  where 
I  wanted  it  to  and  when  I  was  at  the  end  of  my  thread  and 
ready,  which  was  more  than  I  could  have  expected  of  the 
obstreperous  creature. 

The  climax  was  capped  in  my  Willet  hunting  when,  on  a  key 
off  the  South  Carolina  coast,  I  came  upon  a  breeding  colony  of 
these  birds.  For  several  miles  there  was  a  rather  narrow  ridge 
of  dry  sand,  with  frequent  clumps  of  grass  or  weeds,  between 
the  sea  on  the  one  hand  and  the  marsh  on  the  other.  Sev- 
eral of  us  traversed  this  strip  systematically,  and  every  few 
minutes  a  Willet  would  flutter  out  of  a  clump  almost  at  our 
feet,  and  disclose  the  frail  nest  of  grass  and  the  four  hand- 
somely marked,  drab-olive  eggs.  During  that  day  we  cer- 
tainly found  fifty  or  sixty  nests,  and  that  by  covering  only 
a  small  fraction  of  the  territory. 

In  some  instances  we  saw  the  birds  before  they  flushed. 
They  would  then  sit  very  close,  believing  themselves  fully 
concealed  by  the  vegetation.  One  such  I  photographed  at 
close  range,  focusing  the  camera  upon  the  tripod  within  two 
feet  of  her,  and  taking  timed  exposures.  These  of  course  were 
not  wholly  satisfactory,  as  the  bird  was  largely  hidden.  Not 
a  stalk  could  be  touched  without  flushing  her. 

In  some  cases  I  tried  opening  up  nests  and  visiting  them 
after  the  owners  had  returned.  They  became  timid  and  self- 
conscious,  hardly  allowing  an  approach  within  twenty  feet. 
After  great  trouble  I  secured  a  couple  of  not  wholly  satisfac- 
tory exposures  at  long  range.  It  was  not  till  I  tried  the  last 
nest,  just  before  we  were  to  sail  away,  that  I  found  the  Willet 
tamer,  allowing  me  to  secure  a  series  of  timed  exposures  with 
my  large  lens  writhin  six  feet,  which  amply  repaid  me  for 
all  the  effort  I  had  made  and  the  hot  miles  I  had  tramped. 
Resting  on  the  deck,  as  the  favoring  wind  filled  the  white 
sails  and  wafted  me  on  to  other  new  and  exciting  camera- 


SHORE-BIRD   LOITERERS 


255 


hunting,  I  watched,  with  pleasing  thoughts  and  day-dreams, 
the  isolated  sands  of  the  productive  key  —  with  its  willets, 
oyster-catchers,  plovers,  sandpipers,  terns,  and  pelicans  — 
fade  away  in  the  distance. 


WILSON'S  PLOVER 


Part  V 


anti  jforest  ^fastnesses 


In  a  spot  that  lies 

Among  yon  mountain  fastnesses  concealed, 
You  will  receive,  before  the  hour  of  noon, 
Good  recompense,  I  hope,  for  this  day  s  toil. 

WORDSWORTH. 


NEST   AND   YOUNG    OF   MARSH    HAWK 


CHAPTER  XV 


A  pair  of  falcons,  wheeling  on  the  wing, 
In  clamorous  agitation,  round  the  crest 
Of  a  tall  rock,  their  airy  citadeL 

WORDSWORTH. 

THE  annual  spring  hunt  for  hawks'  nests  appeals  to 
me  as  a  sport  by  itself,  a  unique  excitement  that 
stirs    the   blood  with  a  peculiar   thrill.    It    begins 
when  the  woods  and  fields  first  emit  their  spring  fragrance, 
to  which  one's   blood,   stagnated   by  indoor  toil,   responds 
with  new  bounds  of  life.    It  means  strenuous,  yet  joyous, 


26o  WILD   WINGS 

activity,  driving,  tramping,  climbing,  amid  the  wildest  wood- 
land tracts  and  forests,  always  on  the  lookout,  every  nerve 
and  sense  attuned.  So  much  woodcraft  and  knowledge 
of  the  wild  things'  habits  is  involved  that  success  gives 
a  splendid  satisfaction.  Having  found  the  nest,  one  may 
climb  the  tall  tree,  —  often  at  some  risk,  —  examine,  and 
photograph  the  nest,  eggs,  and  young,  and,  most  difficult 
of  all,  the  parent  birds,  and  subsequently  study  their  habits. 
The  ancient  "  hawking,"  where  people  rode  around  with 
a  tame  hawk  or  falcon  and  let  it  fly  at  a  poor  lumbering 
heron,  to  see  it  torn  to  pieces,  was  no  sport  at  all,  in  com- 
parison. 

When  living  in  southeastern  Massachusetts  I  was  accus- 
tomed to  find  over  thirty  nests  of  hawks  and  owls  —  mostly 
the  former,  and  not  including  the  colonizing  Ospreys  —  each 
season.  Each  nest  involved  a  separate  hunt,  and  it  meant 
hundreds  of  miles  of  rough  exploration,  but  it  was  perfectly 
splendid  sport. 

My  method  of  ferreting  out  the  hawks  of  a  given  territory 
is  to  begin  in  late  autumn,  when  the  leaves  have  fallen,  and 
explore  the  region  thoroughly,  noting  especially  the  groves 
or  tracts  of  large  timber  and  the  presences  of  old  nests  — 
platforms  of  sticks  in  the  forks  of  tall  trees.  These  trips 
serve  for  needed  outing  and  exercise  all  winter.  A  few  of  the 
hawks  remain  about  their  old  haunts  throughout  the  year, 
and  in  early  spring  the  absentees  return.  The  continued 
presence  of  hawks  in  or  about  certain  woodland  tracts  is 
a  good  clue,  especially  if  they  can  be  detected  carrying 
building  material. 

When  the  nesting-season  arrives,  I  visit  the  likely  spots, 
and  with  an  opera-glass  critically  examine  every  nest  in  sight. 
Unlike  the  owls,  hawks  more  commonly  build  their  own  nests, 
though  they  frequently  add  to  an  old  one,  or  even  use  a  leafy 


THE   NEW  SPORT   OF   "  HAWKING "         261 

squirrel's  nest  as  a  foundation.  They  are  apt  either  to  use 
their  last  season's  nest  or  build  another  near  it.  There  is 
a  peculiar  appearance  about  a  new  hawk's  nest.  Only  sticks 
are  used,  except  for  the  inside  lining.  In  the  old  nest  the 
material  is  rotted  and  matted  together  ;  in  the  new  each  stick 
has  an  individuality,  and  stands  out  from  the  rest.  Often  the 
ends  of  the  sticks  are  newly  broken,  hence  light  in  color,  and 
there  is  a  general  look  of  freshness  about  the  whole.  Best  of 
all  signs,  in  most  cases,  though  not  always,  some  shreds 
of  downy  feathers  cling  to  the  occupied  nest,  or  to  the  branches 
near  it,  —  more  and  more  as  incubation  advances. 

A  blow  or  two  on  the  tree-trunk  will  often  banish  doubt  by 
starting  the  incubating  hawk,  but  it  is  well  to  make  as  little 
noise  as  possible.  Some  individuals  are  exceedingly  shy,  and 
will  not  await  a  near  approach.  One  Red-shouldered  Hawk, 
whose  nest  I  used  to  visit,  would  leave  the  nest  and  flit 
silently  off  as  soon  as  she  heard  me  coming.  It  was  only 
by  extreme  stealth  that  I  could  catch  even  a  fleeting  glimpse 
of  her.  To  pound  trees  indiscriminately  would  drive  away 
all  such  birds  long  before  the  seekers  came  within  sight  of 
the  nest.  On  the  other  hand,  occasionally,  and  notably  on  a 
rainy  day,  the  hawk  will  not  move  a  feather  for  all  the  pound- 
ing one  can  do.  To  obviate  the  need  of  pounding  the  trees, 
and  as  more  sure  to  flush  the  sitting  bird,  I  have  often  used 
a  rubber  sling-shot,  and  a  pocketful  of  small  pebbles,  which 
last  can  be  replenished  by  the  roadside.  Many  a  fine  hawk 
have  I  seen  leave  the  nest  in  a  hurry,  even  when  the  stone 
did  not  strike  its  mark,  but  simply  whizzed  by.  It  is  often 
puzzling  to  know  when  it  is  best  to  climb  to  a  nest.  All  we 
can  do  is  to  look  sharp  for  signs,  and  act  accordingly.  I  used 
to  climb  whenever  in  doubt,  but  after  ascending  about  a  thou- 
sand tall  trees  for  nothing,  I  am  now  content,  in  most  cases, 
to  await  further  evidence. 


262  WILD   WINGS 

Now  let  us  go  "  hawking."  Middle  April  opens  the  season, 
when  the  Red-tailed  and  Red-shouldered  Hawks  have  just 
laid  their  eggs.  It  is  the  twelfth  this  time,  and  we  start  out 
early  from  North  Middleboro,  Massachusetts,  in  the  buggy, 
behind  my  speedy  little  mare.  Never  was  there  a  more  beau- 
tiful early  spring  day.  The  songs  of  Robins,  Bluebirds,  Song 
Sparrows,  Pine  Warblers,  the  newly  arrived  Chipping  Spar- 
rows, and  others  fill  the  air.  Barn  and  Tree  Swallows  add 
grace  to  the  quiet  scenery  of  the  gently  rolling  landscape  of 
the  Pilgrim  county.  The  loud  honking  of  a  passing  wedge 
of  Canada  Geese  on  their  way  north  rings  out  now  above  the 
other  sounds. 

Our  first  quest  shall  be  the  huge  nest  of  a  Red-tail  on  an 
enormous  white  pine  on  the  edge  of  a  swamp,  to  which  on 
the  twenty-second  of  March  I  happened  to  see  the  hawk  fly 
with  a  stick.  We  drive  up  the  sandy  old  New  Bedford  turn- 
pike, three  miles  or  more,  to  North  Lakeville,  near  the  tack 
factory,  and  turn  down  the  lane  to  the  old  abandoned  "  her- 
mitage," where  we  hitch  the  horse  and  follow  a  path.  It  leads 
almost  to  the  tree,  and  there  is  the  nest.  Now  watch  while 
I  pound,  and  start  the  hawk.  Nothing  stirs.  Is  it  possible 
that  I  was  mistaken  in  my  former  observation?  No,  there 
she  spreads  her  wings,  and  away  she  goes  over  the  tree-tops! 
A  good  sixty  feet  it  is,  and  no  branches  near  the  base,  so 
the  climbing-irons  must  be  buckled  on.  Shall  I  guess  at  the 
contents  of  the  nest  ?  Three  eggs.  For  a  wonder  I  am  right, 
for  the  Red-tail  in  New  England  seldom  lays  more  than  two. 
Meanwhile  the  female  has  returned  and  is  protesting.  Her 
harsh  screams  have  been  compared,  not  inaptly,  to  the  squeal- 
ing of  a  pig,  —  "  pee-eh-h,  pee-eh-h-h,"  they  sound  like,  to 
me.  The  male  has  heard,  and  he  follows,  though  rather  far 
off.  It  is  fascinating  to  sit  here  in  the  sun  and  see  them  soar, 
but  we  must  be  off  to  other  adventures. 


THE   NEW  SPORT   OF   -HAWKING"         263 

Now  we  will  drive  a  mile  west  and  try  a  pine  grove,  where 
a  pair  of  Red-shoulders  always  nest.  The  Barred  Owls  that 
used  to  breed  here  have  gone,  but  the  hawk  proves  constant. 
There  goes  one  of  them  from  near  the  last  year's  nest.  It 
is  an  easy  climb  of  thirty-five  feet,  plenty  of  limbs,  a  regular 
step-ladder  pine.  Not  an  egg  is  yet  laid ;  this  particular 
pair  is  habitually  later  than  the  others  that  I  know  of.  Some 
of  them  are  already  incubating  their  sets,  but  in  this  case, 
judging  from  past  experience,  the  eggs  will  hardly  be  all 
laid  before  the  twenty-fifth.  There  will  be  three  or  four  ;  the 
Red-shoulder  is  more  prolific  than  the  Red-tail. 

Last  year  another  pair  of  Red-tails  had  young  in  a  pine 
swamp  away  out  beyond  Lakeville  Precinct,  and  probably 
have  nested  there  again  ;  so  we  will  drive  out  there  over  that 
narrow  road  where  for  miles  we  see  but  one  house.  Here  is 
the  pasture  where  we  will  leave  the  horse ;  the  nest  is  just 
across  the  edge  of  this  swamp  on  the  border  of  a  clearing. 
Almost  entirely  blown  down !  Then  we  must  search  the  big 
tract  through,  separating  and  working  systematically  in 
parallel  lines.  It  gets  tiresome,  but  let  us  not  give  it  up. 
"  There  she  goes,"  —  did  I  hear  a  shout  ?  Yes,  and  the  hawk 
is  sailing  over  my  head,  just  above  the  trees,  and,  wheeling, 
her  tail,  dull  red  above,  flashes  in  the  sun.  You  did  well 
to  see  that  nest  almost  hidden  from  observation  in  that 
unusually  thick  pine,  again  sixty  feet  from  below.  And 
how  much  wilder  she  was  than  the  other,  to  leave  the  nest 
at  the  first  rap  !  There  will  not  be  three  eggs  this  time,  only 
the  usual  two,  but  beautifully  spotted.  We  are  more  than 
satisfied  as,  under  the  lengthening  shadows  of  the  woods,  the 
horse  fairly  flies  toward  her  bin  of  oats. 

In  western  New  England  in  the  hill  country,  the  Red-tail's 
favorite  nesting-site  is  on  some  tall  chestnut  or  oak  growing 
from  the  foot  of  a  steep,  rocky  declivity  a  little  way  up  from 


264 


WILD   WINGS 


THE   CLIMB    TO    A    RED-TAILED    HAWK'S   NEST 
"  MY    FRIEND    CLIMBED" 

the  base  of  a  mountain.  The  rocks  rise  so  abruptly  that  often 
the  observer  can  walk  very  near  the  nest,  and  not  infrequently 
see  into  it.  On  the  sixteenth  of  a  recent  April  I  visited  a 
fine  tract  of  old  deciduous  trees  on  a  side  hill  where  I  had 
seen  a  pair  of  these  hawks  so  frequently  that  I  was  assured 
of  their  nesting.  Hardly  had  I  entered  the  grove,  halfway 
up  the  hill,  when  I  noticed  a  nest  on  a  tall  chestnut,  but  so 
far  below  me  that  I  found  myself  gazing  upon  the  back 


THE  NEW  SPORT   OF  "HAWKING"         265 

of  a  great  hawk  as  she  sat  upon  the  nest.  Our  glances  met, 
and  she  instantly  flew.  The  hollow  of  the  nest  concealed  the 
contents  from  view.  A  week  later  I  returned  with  a  friend, 
and  climbing-irons.  The  hawk  flew  as  we  neared  the  nest. 
My  friend  climbed  and  found  two  eggs,  while  I  took  a  pic- 
ture of  the  nest  and  his  descent  from  it. 

The  Red-tailed  Hawk  builds  the  largest  nest  that  is  ordi- 
narily found  in  the  woods,  yet  individual  nests  vary.  The 
one  just  mentioned  was  so  flimsy  an  affair  that  I  should  have 
dismissed  it  without  further  thought,  had  I  not  seen  the 
hawk.  The  year  before,  in  fact,  I  passed  it  by,  when  it  was 
undoubtedly  occupied.  It  was  very  unlike  the  first  one  that 
I  found,  near  the  village  of  Middleboro.  I  was  searching 
a  tract  of  very  tall  pines,  when,  on  the  border  of  a  wood  road, 
I  saw  an  enormous  bristling  mass  of  sticks,  very  high  up, 
the  sight  of  which  instantly  quickened  my  pulse.  A  stick  with 
which  I  tried  to  strike  the  tree  broke  off  in  my  hands  at  the 
first  attempt.  But  the  great  Red-tail  above  heard  it,  and 
sailed  off  gracefully  as  a  fleecy  cloud.  How  I  hurried  up  that 
tree,  and  then  gazed  and  gazed  at  the  two  large  eggs  that 
lay  in  the  slight  hollow  of  that  great  platform  nearly  a  yard 
across,  on  a  slight  lining  of  moss,  bark,  and  pine  twigs  !  This 
bird  was  not  demonstrative,  but  after  circling  and  sounding 
the  usual  harsh  squeal  for  a  few  moments,  departed,  followed 
by  a  few  angry  crows. 

Consistency  seems  to  mark  the  whole  career  of  this  red- 
tailed  tribe.  The  bird  is  big,  lays  big  eggs  in  a  big  nest,  and 
that  earlier  than  any  other  hawk.  For  convenience'  sake  we 
look  for  the  nests  of  the  Red-tail  and  Red-shoulder  at  the 
same  time,  but  in  fact  the  former  is  fully  a  week  ahead,  on  the 
average.  I  have  even  known  of  incubated  eggs  being  found 
in  the  last  week  of  March,  when  snow  was  on  the  ground, 
and  the  weather  quite  cold. 


266  WILD  WINGS 

It  is  well  known  that  each  pair  of  raptorial  birds  preempts 
its  own  private  hunting-preserve,  from  which  it  tries  to 
exclude  all  others  that  might  create  troublesome  competition. 
But  there  are  curious  exceptions.  Smaller  hawks  of  other 
genera  are  frequently  allowed  to  nest  near  by,  though  not 
very  close.  Now  and  then  smaller  species  of  the  same  genus 
are,  apparently,  not  deemed  dangerous  enough  rivals  to  be. 
driven  off.  I  have  known  Broad-wings  to  nest  in  the  same 
woodland  tract  with  each  of  the  two  larger  species.  Never, 
though,  have  I  found  two  pairs  of  the  same  species  —  save 
the  social  Ospreys  —  nesting  near  together.  Perhaps  marital 
jealousy  has  something  to  do  with  this.  In  some  instances 
I  have  known  two  pairs  of  the  Red-shoulder  to  nest  not  far 
apart  on  opposite  sides  of  a  road.  Probably  neither  of  them 
crossed  the  road  into  the  other's  territory. 

It  is  worth  noting  that  hawks  and  owls  of  the  same  size 
often  share  the  same  haunts,  both  for  nesting  and  for  hunt- 
ing. Interesting,  too,  is  the  fact  that  the  Red-shouldered 
Hawk  seems  to  fraternize  with  the  Barred  Owl,  while  the 
Great  Horned  Owl  and  the  Red-tail  are  in  the  same  way 
associated. 

I  must  confess  to  a  feeling  of  partiality  for  the  Red-shoul- 
dered Hawk,  probably  because  I  have  for  years  lived  on 
intimate  terms  with  the  species.  In  Middleboro  and  sur- 
rounding towns  there  were  ten  pairs  that  I  used  to  look  up 
from  year  to  year,  and  a  number  of  others  with  which  I  had 
casual  acquaintance.  As  time  went  on  I  discovered  that  most 
of  these  hawk  families  had  a  distinct  individuality. 

My  prime  favorites  were  the  "  Dean  Woods  "  pair,  noisy, 
not  so  shy  as  some,  building  a  large  new  nest  each  year  near 
the  old  one,  forty-five  feet  or  so  up  some  white  pine.  They 
always  had  four  large  eggs,  distinctively  blotched,  so  that 
I  could  have  told  them  from  the  eggs  of  any  other  pair.  The 


THE   NEW   SPORT   OF   "  HAWKING"         267 

"  Crocker  Leonard  "  pair  were  shy,  tenacious  of  their  adopted 
pine  grove,  nesting  rather  low,  and  laying  late.  My  "  Mur- 
dock  Street"  pair  were  the  first  of  the  season  to  breed, 
having  eggs  usually  by  the  fifth  of  April.  They  built  high 


YOUNG    RED-SHOULDERED    HAWK    (FLORIDA) 


up,  and  had  much  of  their  white  down  clinging  about  the 
nest.  Then  there  was  the  "  Hermann "  pair,  the  shyest  of 
them  all,  but  which  atoned  for  their  lack  of  cordiality  by 
laying  three  most  beautifully  clouded  eggs  each  season.  My 


268  WILD   WINGS 

"Pine  Street"  pair  were  the  bold  ones.  When  I  climbed 
to  the  nest  the  female  would  hover  close  to  my  face  and 
menace  me  with  her  claws,  making  such  a  hubbub  that 
once  a  companion,  who  was  waiting  outside  the  pine  swamp 
in  a  buggy,  thought  I  must  be  plucking  the  hawk !  The 
"  Raynham "  pair  near  Taunton  had  acquired  the  happy 
faculty  of  laying  litters  of  five  —  a  rare  gift  for  the  species. 
And  thus  the  gossip  might  continue  about  the  affairs  of 
other  hawk  households. 

Occasionally  I  have  appropriated  a  young  hawk  —  of  this 
or  other  kinds  —  as  a  pet.  To  prevent  the  infliction  of  unin- 
tended cruelty,  let  me  say  that  young  raptorial  birds  should 
never  be  kept  in  a  soft  nest,  but  on  something  similar  to  their 
home  nest,  which  they  can  grasp  with  their  feet,  else  their 
legs  will  become  paralyzed.  They  require  raw  meat,  but 
clear,  soft  butcher's  meat  alone,  lacking  lime,  will  eventually 
cause  rickets.  In  the  natural  state  they  eat  their  prey  in 
junks,  —  bones,  and  fur  or  feathers  included,  —  which  indi- 
cates the  proper  diet. 

By  the  end  of  the  first  week  in  May,  in  New  England, 
another  group  of  hawks  have  completed  their  layings,  and  we 
must  start  out  afresh  to  observe  the  Marsh  Hawk,  Cooper's 
Hawk,  and  the  Osprey,  in  their  respective  haunts.  Hardest 
of  all  the  hawks  to  locate  is  the  Marsh  Hawk,  because  it 
nests  on  the  ground  in  tangled  swamps,  protected  by  thick- 
ets, weeds,  or  briars.  The  swamp  tracts  in  southern  Massa- 
chusetts are  so  dense  and  interminable  that,  though  I  knew 
of  various  pairs  of  Marsh  Hawks,  after  many  vain  endeavors 
I  almost  despaired  of  finding  a  nest.  But  at  last  a  hunter 
told  me  of  a  larch  swamp  near  Precinct  Station,  Lakeville, 
where  a  pair  had  bred  for  years.  The  swamp,  though  very 
wet  and  dense,  was  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  diameter,  in 
a  hollow  between  hills,  and  there  was  a  chance  of  being  able 


1 


CAPTIVE    RED-TAILED    HAWK    IN    THE    ATTITUDE    OF   WATCHING    FOR    PREY 


THE   NEW   SPORT   OF   "  HAWKING"         271 

to  explore  it  thoroughly.  My  first  visit  was  on  the  eleventh 
of  May.  Pulling  up  the  tops  of  my  long  boots,  I  struggled 
through  the  dense  fringe'  of  alders  on  the  edge,  and  emerged 
in  a  rather  open  area  of  long  grass,  low  bushes,  and  stunted 


CAPTIVE  COOPER'S  HAWK 


larches,  the  ground  being  very  wet  and  spongy.  The  very 
first  bird  to  appear  was  a  fine  white  male  Marsh  Hawk  that 
flew  hurriedly  out  of  the  swamp,  and  returned  now  and  then 
high  in  the  air  to  see  what  success  I  was  having. 


272  WILD   WINGS 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  beat  through  the  tract 
systematically,  and  I  went  at  it  with  a  will.  Back  and  forth, 
round  and  round,  I  plodded.  I  was  soaked  by  falling  into 
bog-holes,  and  perspiration  ran  in  rivers.  At  the  end  of  three 
hours  I  was  deliberating  an  inglorious  surrender,  when  sud- 
denly from  the  grass  and  bushes  about  ten  feet  from  me,  a 
little  to  one  side,  up  sprang  the  female  Marsh  Hawk.  What 
a  fuss  she  made,  flying  back  and  forth  over  me  within  easy 
gunshot,  and  keeping  up  an  incessant  screaming  and  cack- 
ling. I  hastened  forward.  The  grass  was  matted  down  on 
the  south  side  of  two  small  larches  in  a  rather  open  spot. 
The  bird  had  built  a  slovenly  nest  of  coarse  weed-stems  and 
grass,  flat  on  the  ground.  It  contained  two  dirty-white  eggs, 
unspotted,  the  set  being  still  incomplete. 

Next  season  I  did  not  get  to  the  swamp  till  May  twenty- 
ninth.  I  had  another  long  search,  until  finally,  as  I  was  away 
down  at  the  other  end  of  the  tract,  the  female  began  to  fly 
around  in  evident  anxiety.  It  was  for  a  time  a  game  of  "  hot 
or  cold."  When  the  hawk  relaxed  her  efforts,  I  knew  I  was 
on  the  wrong  track,  and  as  she  grew  more  excited,  I  knew 
I  was  making  progress.  At  length  I  came  upon  a  nest  simi- 
lar to  the  first,  containing  five  young,  in  various  stages  of 
growth,  one  apparently  just  hatched,  and  the  oldest  several 
times  as  large ;  the  eggs  must  have  been  laid  by  the  end 
of  April.  This  time  Mrs.  Hawk  fairly  outdid  herself.  I  had 
brought  a  youth  with  me  to  help  patrol  the  swamp,  and 
he  really  thought  the  bird  would  scratch  his  eyes  out.  She 
dived  frantically  at  our  heads,  scratching  at  us  with  her 
claws.  Once  or  twice  she  actually  struck  me.  Indeed,  I  know 
of  a  man  who  was  driven  out  of  a  berry-pasture  by  one  of 
these  hawks,  which  doubtless  had  young  in  the  bushes.  Next 
year  my  harriers  nested  again  near  where  I  first  found  them, 
and  there  were  five  fresh  eggs  on  the  thirtieth  of  April. 


THE   NEW   SPORT   OF   -HAWKING'' 


273 


By  May  tenth  it  is  the  height  of  the  nesting-season  for  the 
Cooper's  Hawk.  This  species  is  preeminently  the  most 
destructive  of  the  raptorial  tribe  in  the  United  States,  though 


NEST   AND    EGGS   OF    COOPER'S    HAWK    IN    CROTCH    OF    CHESTNUT 

if  the  Goshawk  were  more  common  it  would  deserve  the 
palm.  It  pounces  upon  every  living  thing  it  meets  that  is 
not  too  large  for  it.  Ordinarily  wary  enough,  its  dash  and 
boldness  in  pursuit  of  prey  are  amazing.  Not  long  ago  a 
gentleman  called  to  me  as  I  passed  along  the  village  street, 
asking  me  to  come  to  his  hen-house  and  see  a  hawk  that  was 
after  his  chickens.  It  was  a  Cooper's  Hawk,  as  I  had  antici- 


274  WILD  WINGS 

pated,  and  there  was  the  rascal,  well  up  in  the  air,  circling 
about  with  alternate  soarings  and  a  series  of  quick  flappings. 
Despite  the  fact  that  two  men  were  working  right  there,  and 
had  a  gun  close  at  hand,  no  sooner  would  they  get  to  work 
with  saw  and  hammer  than  down  the  hawk  would  dash  and 
snatch  a  chicken  within  a  yard  or  two  of  them.  Twice  or 
thrice  it  had  tried,  but  the  men  had  rushed  at  it  and  made  it 
drop  the  chicken.  For  twenty  minutes  I  held  the  gun  while 
the  men  worked,  but  the  hawk  kept  its  distance.  Then,  as 
I  could  not  wait,  I  stood  the  gun  against  the  coop  and  started 
off.  In  a  moment,  hearing  a  commotion,  I  turned  and  laughed 
right  out  to  see  the  fierce  bird  flopping  over  the  ground  with 
a  chicken  in  its  claws  and  a  big  man,  shouting  and  gesticu- 
lating, making  such  a  rush  that  the  hawk,  seeing  that  it  was 
about  to  be  caught,  let  go  the  chicken  —  which  was  unin- 
jured, save  for  a  slight  scratch  —  and  was  ofl.  It  alighted 
on  a  tree,  and  I  followed  with  the  gun,  but  it  was  too  wary 
for  me. 

The  situations  chosen  for  the  nest  are  usually  tall,  slender 
trees  in  groves  or  woods.  In  Plymouth  County,  Massachu- 
setts, it  selects  a  pine,  in  western  New  England  usually 
a  chestnut.  I  have  never  found  it  lower  than  thirty  feet  from 
the  ground  ;  usually  it  is  from  forty  to  fifty.  The  nest  is 
large  for  the  size  of  the  bird,  a  great  rough  pile  of  sticks.  It 
is  very  characteristic  of  the  nest  that  it  is  unlined,  save  with 
scales  of  rough  bark,  which  would  seem  to  be  almost  worse 
than  no  lining  at  all.  But  the  hawk  doubtless  knows  what  it 
wants. 

My  earliest  date  for  eggs  of  this  hawk  was  the  twenty- 
seventh  of  April.  It  was  a  raw,  threatening  day,  but  I  drove 
away  off  to  the  eastern  edge  of  Middleboro  to  explore 
new  country,  where  hawks  had  been  seen,  and  to  go  through 
a  great  cedar  swamp.  Nothing  whatever  was  found,  and  to- 


THE   NEW  SPORT   OF   -HAWKING"         275 

ward  night,  on  the  way  home,  passing  a  pine  grove,  I  hitched 
the  horse  and  went  in,  following  a  high  ridge,  pine-clad,  that 
ran  through  the  woods.  On  one  of  these  trees,  overlooking 
the  steep  ravine,  I  saw  a  fresh  nest  of  good  size.  As  I  struck 


SAME    NEST   AS    LAST,    WITH    YOUNG 

the  tree,  I  expected  to  see  a  Red-shoulder  flop  leisurely  off. 
Instead  something  left  the  nest  with  a  dash  and  a  whir,  as 
though  it  were  a  projectile  shot  from  a  gun.  This  was  typ- 
ical of  Cooper's  Hawk,  but  it  was  so  early  in  the  season  that 
I  could  not  feel  assured  of  the  bird's  identity  till  I  found  my- 
self gazing  at  the  five  bluish-white  eggs,  marked  with  a  few 
sparse  brown  spots,  and  heard  the  familiar  "  cac-cac-cac " 


276  WILD   WINGS 

from  a  distance  in  the  pines.  Then  I  drove  home  with  the 
eggs  in  a  raging,  late,  wet  snowstorm,  cold,  white,  but  not 
"  white-washed." 

Usually  these  hawks  are  silent  and  retiring  when  their 
nesting  haunts  are  invaded,  but  on  occasion  they  can  be 
very  vociferous.  A  pair  once  advanced  to  meet  me,  as  I  went 
through  a  grove  in  East  Taunton,  Massachusetts,  one  twenty- 
fifth  of  May,  flitting  from  tree  to  tree  and  scolding  at  me  with 
all  their  might.  Suddenly  they  disappeared.  There  were  a 
dozen  old  nests  about,  and  I  could  not  decide  which  to  climb 
to,  so  I  withdrew  for  a  while.  I  went  farther  than  I  intended, 
and  it  was  nearly  dark  when  I  got  back.  It  was  not  until 
I  rapped  the  very  last  tree  that  the  hawk  whirred  off  into 
the  gathering  gloom.  There  was  the  nest  fifty  feet  from  the 
ground,  up  a  slender  pine  that  had  no  limbs,  save  rotten  stubs, 
until  one  almost  reached  the  nest.  I  confess  I  dreaded  the 
climb  alone  there  in  the  dusk,  but  I  made  it,  and  found  five 
big,  dirty  eggs,  well  incubated,  the  second  set  of  Cooper's  that 
I  had  discovered  that  day. 

It  was  with  the  Cooper's  Hawk  that  I  first  made  de- 
monstration of  the  fact  that  the  wildest  hawk  can  be  photo- 
graphed upon  the  nest,  if  sufficient  time  be  taken,  and  proper 
methods  used.  It  is  hard  enough  to  photograph  a  hawk's 
nest  from  an  insecure  perch  in  a  lofty  tree,  but  it  is  as 
nothing  compared  with  doing  so  when  the  adult  bird  is 
upon  it. 

In  the  present  instance  I  found  a  new  nest  in  a  hemlock 
tree,  in  some  mixed  woodland,  forty-two  feet  from  the  ground. 
After  the  eggs  had  all  been  laid  for  some  days,  I  began  work 
by  nailing  up  low  in  a  near-by  tree  a  small  box  with  a  round 
hole  in  one  end  and  a  cloth  over  it,  in  rude  imitation  of 
a  camera.  The  hawk  was  so  shy  that  she  would  fly  even 
before  I  came  within  sight  of  the  nest.  I  gave  her  about 


THE   NEW   SPORT   OF   "HAWKING" 


277 


a  day  to  study  the  instrument,  and  then  screwed  it  about 
five  feet  above  the  nest,  pointed  down  at  it.  When  I  came 
again  I  rejoiced  to  find  she  had  not  deserted.  So  I  replaced 
the  box  with  the  real  camera,  focused  and  made  ready,  and 
covered  it  with  the  same  cloth. 

This  done,  I  attached  to  the  shutter  my  long,  strong  thread, 
dropping  the  spool  end  to  the  ground  and  laying  out  the  line 
of  communication  to  a  bower  which  I  had  previously  built 
under  some  thick  hemlocks,  as  far  away  as  I  could  see  the 
nest  through  the  trees,  where  I  hid  myself,  lying  flat  on 
the  ground  and  peering  through  a  loop-hole.  For  half  an 
hour  all  was  silent.  Then  the  hawk  began  her  clatter  near 
by,  flitting  nervously  from  tree  to  tree.  After  a  while  she 


COOPER'S  HAWK  INCUBATING 
"THE  WILDEST  HAWK  CAN  BE  PHOTOGRAPHED  UPON  THE  NEST: 


278  WILD   WINGS 

suddenly  darted  on  to  the  nest  and  I  made  the  exposure, 
without  causing  her  to  fly.  It  would  have  been  successful, 
save  that,  in  setting  the  camera,  I  had  accidentally  exposed 
the  plate,  and  so  had  a  double  picture.  A  subsequent  at- 
tempt was  entirely  successful,  though  the  hawk  almost  found 
me  out,  for  she  alighted  close  above  my  head  and  kept 
me  lying  face  downward  for  ten  minutes  without  moving 
a  muscle,  while  the  swarms  of  mosquitoes  were  doing  their 
worst. 

Since  then  I  have  learned  that  hawks  —  notably  the  larger 
kinds  —  seem  to  know  when  a  person  has  not  left  the  woods, 
and  will  often  refuse  to  approach  the  nest  until  one  has  really 
gone.  The  best  way  to  deceive  them  in  such  a  case  is  to  take 
a  companion  to  the  spot,  get  well  hidden,  and  then  have  the 
other  noisily  withdraw. 

The  magnificent  Osprey,  or  Fish  Hawk,  is  another  species 
which,  in  the  latitude  of  New  England,  lays  its  eggs  in  early 
May.  Osprey  "  hawking  "  is  very  different  from  what  I  have 
been  describing.  Nests  are  often  placed  in  solitary  trees  on 
open  land  near  water,  sometimes  close  to  a  house,  as  is  the 
case  in  southern  New  England.  I  have  seen  one  on  the  cross- 
piece  of  a  telephone  pole,  and  they  have  been  built  on  chim- 
neys or  other  strange  places.  The  nests  are  usually  enormous, 
and  it  is  frequently  very  difficult  to  get  above  to  photograph 
them.  Meanwhile  the  old  birds  will  sometimes  menace  one 
in  the  most  ferocious  manner,  though  I  never  knew  one 
actually  to  strike.  They  generally  lay  three  eggs,  rarely  four, 
very  heavily  and  strikingly  marked. 

I  have  also  studied  Ospreys  on  various  parts  of  our  South- 
ern coast,  where  they  nest  in  pineries  or  swamps,  often  in  the 
vicinity  of  nests  of  the  Bald  Eagle.  They  are  often  tame 
enough  to  alight  on  the  nest  when  one  is  standing  beneath  it, 
and  many  a  camera-shot  have  I  fired  at  the  hovering  birds. 


THE   NEW   SPORT   OF   -HAWKING"         279 

Somehow,  though,  it  is  by  no  means  as  easy  as  it  looks  to 
obtain  a  large,  sharp,  first-class  picture. 

The  aforesaid  Bald  Eagles  are  much  harder  subjects  for  the 
camera.  Their  nests  are  huge,  and  usually  high  in  monster 
trees,  and  the  owners  are  always  difficult  of  approach.  They 
nest  very  early  in  the  season,  in  Florida  even  the  year  before, 
one  might  say,  —  about  December,  —  so  that  I  have  always 
come  too  late  even  to  find  young. 

Coming  now  to  our  late  breeders,  the  Broad-winged  Hawk 
is  about  the  same  size  as  the  Cooper's,  but  in  form,  habit,  and 
movements  is  very  much  like  the  Red-shouldered.  Some- 
times it  soars  about  uttering  a  peculiar  shrill  whistle,  which 
a  German  friend  of  mine,  who  was  a  great  hawk-hunter, 
and  had  a  pair  of  these  hawks  on  his  farm,  thought  was 
a  "  grieved  note,"  as  he  called  it,  of  the  female  Red-shoulder, 
deprived  of  her  eggs.  But  presently  his  birds  quieted  down, 
and,  selecting  an  old  nest  in  a  pine  grove  near  by,  soon  after 
the  middle  of  May  rejoiced  in  the  prospects  afforded  by  two 
smallish  brown  and  lilac  spotted  eggs. 

Two  eggs  is  the  usual  number  at  one  laying,  though  I  have 
found  three.  And  though  May  twentieth  is  the  standard 
date  for  the  full  set,  it  is  sometimes  earlier,  for  I  once  found 
a  nest  in  a  low  pine  on  May  fourth  with  one  egg,  and  the 
set  of  two,  which  I  examined  on  the  ninth,  had  probably 
been  completed  by  the  sixth.  This  same  pair  the  next  sea- 
son made  a  nest  in  a  pine  a  few  yards  away,  only  nineteen 
feet  from  the  ground,  in  which  were  three  eggs.  When  dis- 
turbed, the  female  gently  flapped  off  a  couple  of  gunshots, 
and,  alighting  in  a  tree,  motionless  and  silent,  awaited  the 
departure  of  the  intruder. 

Another  nest  of  Broad-wings  which  I  found  was  in  a  most 
picturesque  spot,  in  Kent,  Connecticut.  A  large  mountain 
brook  leaps  forty  feet  over  a  precipice  in  some  dark  hemlock 


280 


WILD   WINGS 


YOUNG   SHARP-SHINNED    HAWK,    RAISED    FROM    THE    NEST 

woods,  and  goes  roaring  down  a  series  of  cascades.  On  the 
seventh  of  May,  as  I  was  following  up  the  brook  along  the 
cascades,  a  Broad-winged  Hawk  flew  out  from  some  tall  hem- 
lock and  deciduous  trees  bordering  the  brook  on  the  other 
side,  and  circled  three  times  over  me,  in  a  rather  threatening 
manner,  I  thought,  returning  then  to  alight  in  a  tall  oak, 
where  it  sat  quietly. 

I  was  convinced  that  the  bird  was  nesting,  so  I  crossed  the 
brook  by  a  bridge  farther  up,  and  reached  the  spot.  The 
hawk  was  not  to  be  seen,  but  I  saw  an  old  squirrels'  nest, 
forty  feet  up  a  chestnut-tree,  that  had  some  fresh  sticks  laid 
across  the  top,  which  made  me  confident  that  the  hawk  was 


THE   NEW   SPORT   OF   -HAWKING"         281 

rebuilding  this  nest.  It  was  not  until  the  twenty-fifth  of  May 
that  I  returned,  in  a  pouring  rain.  As  I  expected,  the  bird 
was  on  the  nest,  her  head  raised  to  watch  the  intruders.  A 
blow  on  the  trunk  made  her  flap  slowly  off.  She  alighted  in 
a  neighboring  tree,  and  kept  uttering  her  shrill,  high-pitched, 
whistling  scream,  flying  now  and  then  to  circle  a  bit,  and 
alight  in  another  place,  never  far  from  home.  I  found  that 
the  nest  was  the  usual  rude  structure,  a  layer  of  sticks 
added  to  the  squirrels'  nest,  and  a  lining  of  leaves  and  bark, 
in  which  lay  two  of  the  most  beautiful  eggs  I  had  ever  seen, 
the  white  background  being  heavily  blotched  with  rich 
brown,  giving  the  eggs  a  strong  resemblance  to  those  of  the 
Sharp-shinned  Hawk,  except  for  their  larger  size.  The  whole 
scene  —  the  handsome  eggs,  the  hovering  bird,  the  woods 
dark  in  the  storm,  and  the  wild,  thundering  cataract  close  by 
—  takes  its  place  in  my  memory  as  one  of  uncommon 
grandeur. 

Few  happenings  in  "  hawking "  please  me  more  than 
finding  the  nest  of  the  Httle  Sharp-shinned  Hawk.  It  is 
a  neat  structure  of  clean  new  twigs,  without  any  lining 
whatever,  usually  well  up  a  slender  evergreen  tree  of  some 
sort,  in  the  woods.  The  birds  are  very  jealous  of  intrusion, 
and  will  sometimes  thus  betray  the  vicinity  of  the  nest.  One 
thirteenth  of  May  as  I  passed  through  a  grove  of  young 
pines  with  a  fellow  naturalist,  a  pair  of  these  little  hawks  set 
up  a  tremendous  outcry,  and  even  swooped  at  us,  as  we 
went  peacefully  along  the  cart-path.  This  set  us  to  search- 
ing, and  very  soon  I  climbed  to  the  nest,  and  found  it  com- 
pleted, the  eggs  not  yet  laid.  Two  weeks  later  I  took  the 
beautiful  set  of  four,  despite  the  angry  dashes  of  the  mother, 
and  much  to  the  joy  of  the  farmer  whose  chicken-yard, 
close  by,  had  been  almost  depopulated  by  the  pestiferous 
little  raptors. 


282 


WILD   WINGS 


Another  year  a  young  friend,  wishing  to  please  me,  set  out 
alone  to  find  a  hawks'  nest.  I  lent  him  my  buggy,  and  he 
drove  many  miles,  returning  empty-handed,  as  I  expected. 
He  reported  that  he  had  not  seen  a  sign  of  a  hawk,  nothing 
but  some  birds  about  the  size  of  Robins  that  had  made  a 
great  fuss  and  swooped  at  him,  in  a  thick  pine  grove.  There 
were  two  nests  built  of  sticks  close  by,  high  up  in  the 
trees.  Climbing  away  up  to  one,  he  found  it  empty,  and  in 
vexation  departed,  exclaiming,  "  You  're  no  hawks,  nothing 
but  Robins  ;  you  can't  fool  me  !  "  Next  day,  May  eighteenth, 
I  drove  there  with  him,  ten  miles  from  home,  and  a  mile 
down  a  logging  road  into  a  swamp,  where  I  had  .him  climb 


"  A    BROOD    OF   TINY    SHARPSHINS    IN    THEIR    NEST  " 
TAKEN    FROM    ITS   SITE 


THE   NEW   SPORT   OF   "  HAWKING"         283 

to  the  other  nest,  from  which  one  of  the  "  Robins "  had 
flown  as  I  rapped  the  tree,  and  in  which,  much  to  his  surprise, 
he  found  five  Sharp-shinned  Hawk's  eggs  ! 

A  recent  Fourth  of  July  was  very  pleasantly  passed  by 
a  mountain  lake  in  Kent,  away  from  the  noise  of  man,  but 
close  to  the  heart  of  nature.  The  pleasantest  part  of  it  all 
was  when,  astride  a  branch  forty  feet  up  a  hemlock,  on  the 
mountain-side  overlooking  the  beautiful  lake,  I  played  with 
a  brood  of  tiny  Sharpshins  in  their  nest,  downy  little  fel- 
lows, no  larger  than  newly  hatched  domestic  chickens.  Their 
mother  was  not  so  bold  as  some,  and  remonstrated  only 
vocally  from  a  distance.  The  nest  contained  feathers  and 
bones  of  small  birds,  and  yet,  presently,  just  under  a  neigh- 
boring tree,  where  I  sat  to  watch  the  hawk,  a  beautiful  Black- 
throated  Blue  Warbler  and  a  pair  of  Canada  Warblers  were 
gleaning  insect  food  for  young,  unmindful  of  "  sharpshins  " 
which  were  liable  at  any  time  to  be  felt  and  to  make  orphans 
of  their  children. 

I  will  conclude  this  description  of  the  hawks  in  their  wild 
fastnesses  by  some  account  of  their  resorts  as  I  have  found 
them  in  North  Dakota.  In  various  explorations  in  strips 
of  timber  along  the  shores  of  lakes  and  rivers,  in  early  May, 
I  have  found  the  Red-tailed  and  Cooper's  Hawks  breeding 
abundantly,  with  the  Swainson's  and  Sparrow  Hawks  getting 
ready  to  do  so.  The  Red-tail  here  is  the  geographical  race 
or  subspecies  called  Krider's  Hawk,  but  it  is  essentially  our 
old  friend  of  the  East.  About  every  half-mile  along  the 
Goose  River  —  wonderfully  crooked,  as  are  all  prairie  streams 
- 1  found  a  huge  nest  high  up  in  some  enormous  tree,  usu- 
ally an  elm,  seldom  less  than  eighty  feet  from  the  ground. 
I  wanted  to  see  the  eggs  of  Krider's  Hawk,  yet  did  not  feel 
equal  to  such  terrible  ascents.  Fortunately  I  met  a  sailor, 
who  was  glad  enough  to  go  aloft  from  that  flat  prairie,  —  in 


284  WILD   WINGS 

consideration  of  a  dollar,  —  and  climbed  to  two  of  the  nests, 
from  each  of  which  he  safely  brought  down  three  large  white, 
spotted  eggs.  One  tree  gave  him  such  a  dangerous  climb 
that  he  did  not  dare  to  descend  by  climbing-irons  alone,  and 
he  sat  up  in  a  crotch  until  I  could  secure  a  rope  at  a  distant 
farmhouse.  The  female  in  each  case  left  the  nest  as  we 
approached,  and  the  pair  circled  about  overhead  with  the 
same  harsh  squeals  to  which  I  was  accustomed. 

I  found  the  Sparrow  Hawks  very  common  in  most  of  the 
timber-belts  that  I  visited,  as  well  as  in  the  extensive  forests 
of  the  Turtle  Mountain  country.  One  or  both  of  the  pair  will 
be  seen  perched  on  some  bare  limb,  and  not  far  away  is  the 
hollow  they  have  chosen  for  their  nest,  usually  a  rotted-out 
knot-hole.  Early  in  June,  if  not  before,  the  female  deposits 
her  four  or  five  brownish,  finely  speckled  eggs,  and  then  the 
pair  become  more  solicitous  over  intrusion.  The  female 
darts  from  the  hole,  when  both  birds  fly  about  and  scold 
angrily.  The  eggs,  though  always  of  the  unmistakable 
brown  type  of  the  Falcons,  vary  a  good  deal.  In  one  very 
curious  set  that  I  secured  by  the  Sheyenne  River,  two  of  the 
eggs  are  almost  round  and  a  little  irregular,  looking  a  good 
deal  like  small  potatoes. 

The  Swainson's  Hawk  is  a  typical  bird  of  the  prairies, 
a  large,  heavy  creature,  slow  but  graceful  in  flight.  It  is  one 
of  the  commonest  sights  to  see  it  soaring  over  the  prairie, 
especially  if  there  be  timber  near,  or  standing  on  a  knoll  or 
a  fence-post.  It  is  the  tamest  hawk  of  my  acquaintance,  and 
it  will  often  allow  one  to  drive,  or  even  walk,  very  close  to  it. 
Many  an  isolated  tree,  even  though  but  a  few  feet  high,  bears 
a  bulky  nest  that  looms  up  miles  away  as  one  traverses  the 
plain.  I  have  also  found  the  nest  in  clumps  of  bushes.  In 
the  many  that  I  have  examined,  the  number  of  eggs  has  been 
from  two  to  four,  usually  three.  The  female  sits  on  them 


PAIR    OF    SPARROW    HAWKS    IN    CAPTIVITY 


THE   NEW   SPORT   OF   "  HAWKING"         287 

quite  persistently,  but  on  a  close  approach  flies  out  and 
circles  in  the  usual  buzzard-fashion,  uttering  harsh  screams 
that  remind  me  very  much  of  the  notes  of  its  relative  the 
Red-tail.  I  once  approached  a  nest  whose  owner  was  more 
disinclined  than  usual  to  leave  it.  She  looked  down  at 
me  over  the  edge,  but  would  not  fly  until  I  struck  the  tree 
several  times.  Then,  before  I  could  climb,  she  returned  to  the 
nest,  though  it  was  but  thirty  feet  up.  I  expected  on  my  last 
trip  West  to  be  able,  without  much  trouble,  to  photograph 
these  hawks  on  their  nests.  Probably  this  could  be  done  ;  but 
I  found  so  much  to  occupy  me  that  I  could  not  take  time  for 
the  attempt. 

Though  Swainson's  Hawk  is  very  common  in  Dakota,  I 
think  that  the  first  rank  in  abundance  must  be  conceded 
to  the  Marsh  Hawk.  One  cannot  travel  far  on  the  prairie 
without  seeing  the  long-winged  bird  with  a  band  of  white 
on  its  rump  quartering  about  low  over  the  ground,  now  and 
then  suddenly  dropping  into  the  grass  to  catch  a  gopher,  or 
perhaps  an  insect. 

The  best  place  to  find  their  nests  is  in  the  grass  just  up 
from  a  slough,  or  even  away  from  water  in  a  depression  of 
the  prairie,  in  coarse  grass  where  water  has  formerly  stood. 
At  times  I  have  roamed  for  scores  of  miles  without  finding 
a  nest.  And  then  again,  when  I  have  happened  upon  a  favor- 
able locality,  it  was  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  discover 
them.  The  nest  itself  is  inconspicuous,  a  mere  little  rim  of 
grass  and  weed-stems,  though  again,  when  built  on  wet 
ground,  quite  a  platform  of  the  same  material  is  constructed. 
One  Memorial  Day  a  friend  and  I  were  taking  a  tramp  on  the 
prairie,  and  came  across  a  little  alkaline  lake,  with  mud- 
flats, and,  up  from  its  edge,  patches  of  dried  weeds.  I  flushed 
a  Mallard  in  one  of  these  latter  from  eleven  almost  hatched 
eggs,  and,  singularly,  only  a  few  rods  away,  a  female  Marsh 


288  WILD  WINGS 

Hawk,  when  closely  approached,  also  started  from  her  nest, 
with  three  newly  hatched  young,  clad  in  yellowish  down,  and 
three  eggs  not  yet  hatched.  Across  on  the  opposite  shore  of 
the  pond,  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  we  put  up  another 
Marsh  Hawk  from  six  half-incubated  eggs. 

A  few  days  later,  the  third  of  June,  we  had  a  wonderful 
experience  with  the  Marsh  Hawks.  Driving  eight  miles  from 
camp,  we  searched  two  closely  adjoining  sloughs,  in  all  a  ter- 
ritory about  a  mile  square.  Not  to  speak  of  numerous  ducks' 
nests,  and  others,  we  began  by  flushing  a  Marsh  Hawk, 
about  ten  yards  from  us.  Her  odd  family  consisted  of  two 
young,  three  normal  eggs  and  one  small  runt,  six  in  all. 
Shortly  after  this,  one  of  my  companions,  coming  out  into 
the  slough  to  see  a  Sora's  nest  that  I  had  found,  discovered 
another  Marsh  Hawks'  home  in  the  meadow  grass  where 
there  was  a  little  water.  It  held  six  young  and  was  necessarily 
quite  a  structure,  measuring  eighteen  inches  in  height  and 
thirty  across.  Plodding  out  into  the  next  slough,  another 
Marsh  Hawk  made  some  fuss  over  a  nest  I  did  not  take  the 
trouble  to  hunt  up.  At  the  farther  end  of  this  slough  I  found 
two  more  nests,  only  a  few  rods  apart,  the  first  with  six  eggs, 
the  other  with  four  young  and  an  addled  egg.  As  we 
drove  home,  the  dogs,  ranging  out  on  the  prairie,  started  still 
another  hawk  from  its  scant  nest  in  a  little  depression,  with 
four  eggs.  I  took  pictures  of  several  of  the  nests,  and,  all  in 
all,  it  was  preeminently  a  Marsh  Hawk  day. 

A  fine,  striking  raptor  of  the  prairie  is  the  Ferruginous 
Rough-legged  Hawk.  No  one  can  well  mistake  it,  with  its 
light  breast  and  white  tail,  as  it  soars  about.  In  disposition 
it  seems  much  like  the  Swainson's  Hawk,  being  rather  quiet 
and  not  particularly  shy,  though  it  is  a  very  solitary  bird,  and 
retires  more  and  more  into  the  wilder  parts  as  the  country 
becomes  settled.  Like  the  Swainson's,  it  builds  large  nests  on 


THE   NEW  SPORT   OF   -HAWKING"         289 

trees  in  timber-belts  or  isolated  patches,  but  it  is  also  partial 
to  ground-building  on  the  slopes  of  rocky  knolls  of  the  prairie 
from  the  central  parts  of  North  Dakota  westward.  In  either 
case,  when  the  nest  is  approached,  the  owners  hover  and 
scream  with  considerable  boldness  and  vigor.  The  eggs  are 
laid  early  in  the  season,  about  the  first  of  May,  —  the  laying- 
time  here  also  of  the  Red-tail,  —  and  are  from  three  to  five  in 
number,  usually  handsomely  marked  specimens. 

On  the  Memorial  Day  just  spoken  of,  I  saw  an  interesting 
nest.  It  was  in  an  oak  back  from  a  lake,  about  forty  feet  from 
the  ground.  From  far  out  on  the  prairie  I  could  see  the 
head  of  the  female  sticking  up  over  the  edge.  Away  she 
went,  spreading  her  white  tail,  as  we  drew  near,  and  mani- 
festing her  displeasure  as  long  as  we  remained.  Part  of  the 
time  she  flew  back  and  forth  just  over  the  tree-tops  with 
angry  screams,  and  then  she  would  rise  in  the  air  and  soar 
with  her  mate.  There  were  five  young,  picturesque  indeed, 
as  were  their  fine  white-tailed  parents  and  the  beautiful  sur- 
roundings. 

I  was  also  privileged  to  see  one  other  raptorial  bird  in 
Dakota  that  I  had  never  seen  before.  Though  I  had  occa- 
sionally seen  the  Bald  Eagle  in  the  East,  circling,  or  perched 
on  some  tree,  usually  near  lake  or  river,  the  majestic  Golden 
Eagle  was  a  stranger  to  me.  One  day  I  was  shown  a  splen- 
did specimen  alive  that  had  been  caught  in  a  trap,  and  not 
long  after  that,  early  in  June,  as  we  were  jogging  along  over 
the  wild  prairie,  uninhabited  by  man,  away  up  near  the  Mani- 
toba boundary,  I  saw  an  enormous  bird  sitting  on  the  ground. 
We  drove  toward  it,  and  got  near  enough  for  a  good  view 
with  our  glasses  before  it  flew.  Spreading  its  great  wings,  it 
majestically  flapped  into  the  air.  After  a  little  upward  flight, 
it  extended  its  wings  to  their  full  length,  and  without  another 
effort,  simply  soared  in  circles,  up  and  up,  until  it  actually 


290 


WILD  WINGS 


could  be  no  longer  observed  in  the  zenith  by  the  naked  eye. 
It  was  the  Golden  Eagle,  noble  of  form  and  majestic  in  flight. 
The  whole  scene  in  its  impressiveness  suggested  to  me  the 
upward  course  of  the  human  soul  from  things  low  and  sordid 
to  wisdom,  strength,  and  purity,  to  eternal  heights  as  yet 
beyond  our  ken. 


YOUNG    RED-TAILED    HAWK 


"FOR   SOME   YEARS    A    PAIR    OF    BARRED    OWLS    NESTED    IN    THE    CAVITY   OF   AN    OAK" 


CHAPTER  XVI 


OWL  SECRETS 

The  night-owl,  hushed  and  tranced,  bates 
Its  cry,  and  in  the  darkness  waits. 

STEPHEN  HENRY  THAYER. 

CLOSELY  related  to  the  sport  of  "  hawking  "  is  that  of 
"  owling."    Indeed  the  latter  is  properly  a  department 
of  the  former,  and  in  some  measure  is  to  be  carried 
on  along  with  it.    It  is  really  much  the  more  difficult  of  the 
two,  for  the  owl  has  the  faculty  and  habit  of  so  closely  safe- 
guarding its  secrets  —  its    domestic  affairs  in  particular  — 
that,  to  the  enthusiastic  bird-lover   or   camera-hunter  who 


292  WILD  WINGS 

keenly  craves  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  whole  avifauna, 
the  success  of  the  owl  in  eluding  him  is  simply  maddening. 
Indeed  it  is  so  hard  to  find  an  owl's  nest  that  one  would  need 
" hawking"  —  if  for  no  other  reason!  —  to  fill  in  between 
times  and  provide  sufficient  stimulus  to  keep  one's  enthusiasm 
from  flagging. 

Owling  differs  also  from  hawking  in  that  each  recurring 
season  it  ushers  in  the  nesting  of  the  birds,  and  with  it  the 
sport  with  the  raptors  begins.  The  owls  are  as  early  as  they 
are  hardy.  In  fact  the  last  of  the  owls  to  lay  its  eggs  —  the 
Screech  Owl  —  has  done  so  by  about  the  time  that  the  earliest 
of  the  hawks  are  beginning  their  family  cares.  The  Great 
Horned  Owl  is  the  first  of  all  the  birds  to  nest.  Think  of  the 
hardy  mother,  on  an  open  platform  of  sticks  in  some  tall  tree 
of  a  hillside  forest,  brooding  her  eggs  in  February,  —  some- 
times even  January,  —  the  raging  blizzard  heaping  up  the 
snow  around  her  and  on  her  back,  or  on  the  clear,  cold  nights 
when  the  mercury  has  fallen  far  below  zero  ! 

Another  difference  between  these  allied  sports  is  one  of 
method.  In  part,  to  be  sure,  the  methods  of  each  are  iden- 
tical. But  owls  are  so  comparatively  scarce  that  merely  to 
search  the  woods  for  them  would  be  very  unrewarding.  The 
best  clues  to  their  whereabouts  are  secured  through  their  habit 
of  hooting.  One  may  rest  assured  that  somewhere  near  any 
locality  where  owls  are  habitually  heard  to  hoot  they  will  nest 
when  the  proper  time  comes,  though  to  find  the  nest  is  quite 
another  matter.  My  habit  is  to  drive  or  walk  out,  beginning 
in  January,  on  mild,  muggy  afternoons  toward  dusk,  along 
roads  bordering  favorable  woodland  tracts.  It  is  notable  that 
owls  are  particularly  inclined  to  hoot  at  dusk,  more  so  as 
the  nesting-season  approaches,  when  there  are  indications  of 
storm,  especially  rain.  At  such  times,  if  there  are  any  owls 
in  the  vicinity,  the  listener  is  very  likely  to  hear  what  will 


OWL  SECRETS  293 

thrill  him  with  joyous  enthusiasm.  In  case  one  does  not  hear 
the  owls  for  himself,  it  is  well  to  inquire  of  farmers  or  woods- 
men and  ask  them,  if  they  hear  any  in  the  future,  to  make 
note  of  the  exact  spot  whence  the  hooting  seems  to  issue. 

Sometimes,  toward  the  end  of  a  lowering  winter  afternoon, 
I  drive  along  a  road  near  the  village  of  Kent  that  approaches 
Leonard  Mountain  on  the  north  side,  and  stop  to  listen.  After 
waiting  awhile,  at  length  I  hear,  issuing  from  the  hemlocks 
halfway  up  the  steep  declivity,  a  baritone  voice  mellowed  by 
distance,  giving  an  impression  of  power  and  wildness.  There 
are  three  syllables  :  the  first  is  prolonged  and  tremulous  ;  the 
others  follow  quicker  and  shorter,  yet  not  without  delibera- 
tion,—  "Whoo-o-o;  whoo,  whoo."  I  need  not  the  reminder 
of  the  song  to 

"  Listen  to  the  hooting  of  the  Great  Horned  Owl." 

At  intervals  of  a  minute  or  two  the  cry  is  repeated,  with  some 
intermissions,  usually  ceasing  about  at  dark,  when  the  fierce 
creature  "  bates  its  cry,"  lurking  silent  and  watchful  for  prey. 
And  meanwhile,  from  another  spot  farther  along  the  moun- 
tain, another  voice  of  softer  timbre  is  heard,  the  answering 
cry  of  the  smaller  male  bird.  These  hootings  are  almost 
invariably  followed  by  stormy  weather,  and  the  owls  are 
recognized  as  an  excellent  "  farmers'  almanac." 

Toward  the  end  of  February  these  cries  proceed  nearly 
every  night  for  a  week  or  more  from  one  locality  well  up  on 
the  mountain,  and  here  it  is  that  the  nest,  a  rude  platform  of 
sticks,  upon  some  fine  old  hemlock,  is  being  repaired  and 
the  two  white  eggs  laid.  Again  and  again  I  have  carefully 
located  these  cries  up  on  old  Leonard  Mountain,  and  tried  to 
reach  the  place  whence  they  proceeded,  only  to  wander  along 
the  precipitous  ledges  through  the  wild  forest  maze.  Though 
I  have  often  been  successful  in  other  woodland  tracts,  it  is 


294  WILD  WINGS 

not  for  me  to  assume  what  the  Psalmist  attributes  to  the 
Creator,  —  "I  know  all  the  fowls  of  the  mountains." 

Because  the  doings  of  the  owl  are  shrouded  in  mystery  and 
his  ways  almost  past  rinding  out,  the  spell  of  the  secret  things 
is  upon  me  and  has  inspired  many  a  wild  ramble,  aggregating 
thousands  of  miles.  My  earliest  searchings  for  the  mysterious 
owl  were  in  and  around  the  outskirts  of  Boston.  Ever  mem-< 
orable  was  my  first  view  of  an  owl  in  nature.  It  was  many 
years  ago,  a  cold,  blustering  morning  in  early  March.  Trav- 
ersing a  frozen  cedar  swamp  on  the  shore  of  Hammond's 
Pond,  Newton,  my  heart  fairly  bounded  as  I  came  right  upon 
a  tiny  little  Acadian  or  Saw-whet  Owl  lying  prone  upon  a 
spreading  cedar  bough  just  over  my  head,  sound  asleep, — 
pretty,  cunning  creature ! 

Only  a  few  owl  episodes  in  those  days  were  vouchsafed 
me,  —  a  glimpse  of  a  Long-eared  Owl  one  fall  in  the  same 
swamp,  mobbed  fjy  crows ;  a  nest  of  the  Great  Horned  Owl 
in  Canton,  with  one  quaint,  fuzzy  youngster  ;  one  of  a  Barred 
Owl  in  Sharon,  deserted  before  the  eggs  were  laid ;  another 
Barred  Owl  prowling  in  a  Brookline  orchard ;  a  Snowy  Owl 
on  the  Back-Bay  marsh  one  winter ;  a  Short-eared  Owl  on 
Thompson's  Island,  Boston  Harbor  ;  a  red  Screech  Owl  in 
the  outskirts  of  Brookline  ;  these  treats  were  about  all.  But 
subsequent  residence  in  old  Plymouth  County,  with  its  many 
fine  groves  of  tall  pines  and  its  lonely  swamps,  and  more 
recently  among  the  rugged  Taconic  Mountains  of  western 
Connecticut,  together  with  various  expeditions  north,  west, 
and  south,  have  furnished  far  more  extensive  opportunities 
for  acquaintance  with  owl  secrets,  especially  with  those  de- 
partments, most  recondite  of  all,  the  nesting  of  owls  and  the 
photographing  of  them  from  life. 

As  I  think  how  delightfully  owling  and  hawking  some- 
times converge,  I  love  to  recall  a  day  when  a  friend  and 


OWL   SECRETS  295 

I  were  rounding  up  our  Red-tail  nests.  It  was  the  twelfth 
of  April,  late  in  the  day,  and,  after  some  successes,  we  had 
driven  up  a  wood  road  to  the  borders  of  a  swampy  tract  of 
very  tall  white  pines  on  the  borders  of  Lakeville  and  Taun- 
ton,  Massachusetts.  On  one  of  the  tallest  of  these  trees,  nearly 
eighty  feet  from  the  ground,  a  pair  of  Red-tails  had  built,  the 
preceding  year,  an  enormous  nest,  which  we  hoped  again  to 
find  occupied.  Here  it  was,  at  length,  larger,  apparently, 
than  ever,  and  from  it  fluttered  the  telltale  down.  Four 
resounding  blows  of  a  club  upon  the  thick  trunk  rang  out ; 
then  was  heard  a  commotion  up  above,  and  out  flapped  a 
great  bird  with  a  big  round  head.  I  could  hardly  believe  my 
eyes.  It  was  not  the  expected  Red-tail,  but  a  Great  Horned 
Owl !  And  there  were  the  white  egg-shells  under  the  tree, 
which,  with  spattered  droppings  in  a  circle  around  the  base, 
betokened  the  presence  of  young. 

Neither  of  us  could  ascend  the  tree,  but  my  companion 
mounted  the  next  one,  which  had  limbs,  some  eighty  feet, 
whence  he  could  see  the  young  owls  huddled  together. 
Meanwhile  the  mother  owl  —  for  only  one  appeared  —  gave 
a  most  interesting  entertainment.  She  flew  uneasily  from  tree 
to  tree,  sometimes  going  off  for  quite  a  flight,  to  return  in 
a  circle  to  the  same  spot.  Keeping  for  the  most  part  about  a 
gunshot  away,  she  occasionally  came  quite  near,  sometimes 
balancing  for  a  moment  on  the  tip-top  twig  of  a  tall  pine, 
until  it  settled  down  beneath  her  weight. 

It  was  an  entertainment  of  sound,  as  well  as  of  sight.  Con- 
spicuous above  the  hubbub  of  the  mobbing  crows  came  the 
impressive  sepulchral  tones  of  the  owl.  Sometimes  it  was 
a  single  hoot,  —  "  Whoo-o  ; "  again  it  was  two  of  these  notes, 
repeated  rather  deliberately ;  then  it  would  be  one  prolonged 
note  and  two  quicker  and  shorter,  as  heard  from  the  moun- 
tain. Another  frequent  note  was  a  single  soft  cooing  sound, 


296  WILD  WINGS 

quite  dove-like,  —  "  oo-o-o-o,"  —  with  no  aspirate  quality. 
Still  another  was  the  guttural,  laughter-like  cry,  —  "  waugh- 
whoo-o,"  —  more  like  the  sounds  uttered  by  the  Barred  Owl 
than  any  of  the  other  notes.  Comparing  the  cries  of  these 
allied  species,  aside  from  the  hooting  of  the  Barred  Owl 
being  more  prolonged,  the  tones  of  the  latter  are  sharp  and 
metallic,  startling  in  their  resonant  qualities,  while  those  of 
the  Great  Horned  Owl  are  rich,  deep,  and  mellow,  sounding 
much  softer  close  at  hand  than  those  of  the  other,  yet  audible 
at  a  great  distance. 

A  wreek  later  I  conducted  to  this  nest  another  friend  who, 
aided  with  climbing-irons,  managed  to  ascend  the  tree.  Two 
downy  young  occupied  the  nest,  and  they  were  in  no  imme- 
diate danger  of  starvation,  for  three  rabbits  and  a  mouse, 
partly  eaten,  remained  piled  up  on  the  edge  of  the  nest  for 
their  support.  This  time  it  was  cloudy,  and  the  old  owl  de- 
parted while  we  were  yet  some  distance  off,  and  did  not 
again  show  herself.  A  month  later  the  young  could  be  seen 
roosting  out  on  the  branches  near  the  nest.  A  miscreant, 
who  noted  my  visits  to  this  spot,  shot  the  owlets,  and  had  the 
audacity  to  try  to  sell  them  to  me  to  mount ! 

The  Great  Horned  Owl  is  found  in  scattered  pairs  in  this 
region,  but  the  Barred  Owl  is  rather  more  common.  In  west- 
ern New  England,  however,  this  order  is  reversed.  Here,  as 
in  Plymouth  County,  the  Great  Horned  Owl  is  apt  to  use  the 
abandoned  nests  of  the  Red-tailed  Hawk,  which,  in  this  case, 
are  almost  invariably  in  chestnuts  or  oaks,  while  there  they 
are  as  regularly  in  pines.  In  western  New  England  the  owl 
also  nests  in  the  hemlock  tracts  on  the  mountains,  probably 
using  any  old  nest  of  squirrel  or  crow. 

The  owls  are  all  early  breeders,  and  the  Barred  Owl  comes 
in  as  a  close  second  to  the  Great  Horned.  Though  these  two 
species  are  often  confounded  under  the  common  title  of 


OWL   SECRETS  297 

"  Hoot  Owl,"  they  are  entirely  distinct.  The  Barred  Owl  is 
a  trifle  the  smaller,  lacking  the  conspicuous  ear-tufts  or 
" horns"  of  the  other,  with  dark  iris  instead  of  yellow,  and 
plumage  very  differently  shaded  and  marked.  Its  eggs  are 
laid  by,  or  soon  after,  the  middle  of  March.  Both  kinds 
are  quite  tenacious  of  a  locality,  unless  disturbed,  but  the 
Barred  Owl  is,  I  think,  the  more  so.  One  can  find  a  pair  of 
them  in  the  same  woods  year  after  year,  though  the  nest 
may  have  been  repeatedly  plundered,  or  one  of  the  birds 
killed.  In  the  latter  case  the  survivor  secures  a  new  mate 
and  maintains  the  family  estate  and  traditions. 

The  Great  Horned  Owl  does  not  often  now,  in  southern 
New  England,  nest  in  hollow  trees,  but  the  Barred  Owls 
prefer  such  a  location,  if  indeed  they  can  find  a  hollow  large 
enough  in  our  much-devastated  forests.  If  they  cannot, 
they  usually  patch  up  some  old  affair  of  hawks'  or  squirrels' 
construction,  generally  in  a  tall  pine  in  a  thick,  dark  grove. 
Slovenliness  is  inbred  in  owl  nature.  They  do  whatever  is 
easiest,  and  it  is  easier  to  lay  the  eggs  in  the  bottom  of  a 
hollow  on  the  soft  decayed  wood  than  even  to  fix  up  a  squir- 
rels' nest. 

For  some  years  a  pair  of  Barred  Owls  nested  in  the  cavity 
of  an  oak  where  a  branch  had  been  torn  off  only  twelve  feet 
from  the  ground  and  the  wood  had  rotted  out.  This  was  in 
a  strip  of  mixed  woodland,  just  back  of  the  main  street  of 
the  pleasant  little  village  of  North  Middleboro.  I  used  to 
hear  the  owls  hooting,  but  somehow  could  never  find  their 
home,  though  I  scoured  the  whole  region.  But  one  bright 
afternoon,  the  eleventh  of  April,  as  I  was  up  a  tall  pine 
examining  the  nest  of  a  Red-shouldered  Hawk,  I  heard 
the  prolonged  hooting  of  the  Barred  Owl.  Starting  in  search, 
I  happened  to  pass  the  hollow  tree,  and  thoughtlessly  gave  it 
a  kick.  Such  a  thundering,  scrambling,  whirring  sound  issued 


298  WILD  WINGS 

from  within  the  old  shell,  that  in  my  surprise  I  almost  fell 
over.  An  absurd  monkeyish  face  appeared  at  the  entrance, 
and  away  went  the  great  brown  creature  that  I  was  in  search 
of.  Scrambling  up,  I  could  just  reach  the  three  eggs  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hollow.  They  were  very  dirty,  being  advanced 
in  incubation,  and  were  stained  with  blood  from  the  claws  of 
the  predacious  bird. 

This  enticing  nest  recently  nearly  caused  the  death  of  a 
friend,  an  ardent  ornithologist,  to  whom  I  had  revealed  the 
owl's  secret.  Reaching  in  to  get  an  egg,  he  slipped,  and,  his 
arm  becoming  wedged  in  the  bottom  of  the  narrow  slit,  he 
hung  there  alone  for  an  indefinite  period,  no  one  responding 
to  his  cries  for  help.  Finally  the  arm  became  disengaged, 
and  he  fell  exhausted  to  the  ground. 

This  pair  of  owls  were  always  loquacious,  and  would  some- 
times "  talk  back  "  to  a  human  intruder  hidden  near  the  nest. 
Our  conversations  of  "  whoo-whoos  "  have  afforded  me  the 
rarest  amusement.  The  female  was  the  one  glib  of  tongue, 
and  she  would  launch  out  on  splendid  flights  of  eloquence 
in  reply  to  my  inquiries  as  "  to-whoo  "  she  was  and  "  who 's 
who." 

A  favorite  haunt  of  this  species  is  in  groves  of  tall  pines. 
In  one  such  grove  of  about  ten  acres  in  the  town  of  Lake- 
ville,  a  pair  were  for  years  domiciled.  I  first  discovered  them 
by  hearing  of  a  farmer  who  the  previous  year  had  discovered 
a  large  young  owl  that  had  fallen  from  the  nest.  Under  his 
guidance  I  found  the  tree,  but,  as  we  reached  it,  I  noticed 
another  platform  of  sticks  fifty  feet  up  a  neighboring  pine. 
Two  things  about  it  were  significant,  —  a  large  piece  of  gray 
down  clung  to  one  of  the  sticks,  and  from  the  nest  protruded 
a  brown  stubby  thing  that  I  felt  sure  was  the  owl's  tail. 
Blows  on  the  trunk  of  the  tree  failed  to  produce  any  move- 
ment above.  My  companion  was  sceptical  as  I  began  the 


YOUNG    BARRED    OWL   FROM    NESTING    HOLLOW    SHOWN    IN    PRECEDING    PICTURE 


OWL  SECRETS  301 

ascent ;  but  when  I  was  fifteen  feet  up,  silently  and  hurriedly 
the  owl  left  the  nest  and  went  out  of  sight  to  the  other  side 
of  the  grove. 

At  last  I  was  up  the  dizzy  height,  and  before  me  lay  an 
old  squirrels'  nest,  an  aggregation  of  sticks  and  leaves,  the 
top  of  which  the  new  occupants  had  hollowed  out  quite 
deeply.  Here  in  a  soft  bed  of  leaves  and  owl-down  were 
three  eggs,  —  the  usual  complement  of  this  species,  though 
it  is  often  but  two,  —  white,  as  are  all  owls'  eggs,  nearly 
spherical,  and  about  the  size  of  eggs  of  domestic  fowl. 
Though  it  was  "  April  Fools'  Day,"  the  owl  had  not  been 
able  to  deceive  me  and  prevent  the  discovery  of  her  secret. 

These  eggs  were  appropriated  for  purposes  which  I  con- 
sidered more  important  than  those  of  the  owl.  Two  weeks 
later,  to  a  day,  on  a  bright  morning,  I  was  gazing  upward 
under  that  tree,  looking  in  vain  for  the  stubby  tail.  But  there 
it  was  on  the  last  year's  nest,  in  a  very  slender  pine,  at  about 
the  same  elevation.  Backing  off  to  see  the  owl  move,  while 
the  farmer  knocked  vigorously  at  her  tree  door,  at  length 
I  observed  her  very  slowly  raise  her  solemn  face  above  the 
edge  of  the  nest,  and,  with  fixed  gaze,  try  to  stare  me  out 
of  countenance.  This  time  she  was  even  tamer  than  before. 
I  stopped  climbing  only  when  my  head  was  just  below  the 
level  of  the  nest.  There  was  the  brown  barred  tail  projecting 
within  easy  reach.  Why  not  catch  the  owl  ?  But  the  thought 
of  a  struggle  in  the  tree-top  with  the  great  raptor's  beak  and 
claws  forbade. 

Probably  never  again  shall  I  witness  at  such  close  quarters 
the  scramble  of  a  large  owl  from  the  nest,  for  this  tameness 
is  unique  in  my  experience.  First  she  rose  to  her  feet  with 
a  quick  start,  and  almost  simultaneously  leaped  into  the  air, 
spreading  her  wings  as  she  did  so.  The  branches  were  rather 
thick,  though  there  was  an  opening,  and  the  owl  in  her 


302  WILD  WINGS 

excitement  struck  her  wings  against  the  obstruction,  almost 
falling  back.  With  owls,  as  with  men,  "  haste  makes  waste." 
She  had  but  two  eggs,  and  the  body  of  a  mouse  lay  in  the 
larder,  as  provision,  doubtless,  for  the  mid-day  repast.  This 
time,  as  I  approached,  the  husband  and  father  was  on  guard 
near  the  nest.  He  was  not  as  brave  as  his  mate,  —  the  usual 
story  among  raptorial  birds,  —  and  flitted  on  ahead,  a  few 
rods  at  a  time,  alighting  high  up  in  the  pines,  back  toward 
me,  then  facing  around  to  stare  and  "  whoo "  his  usual 
interrogatory. 

Another  pair  of  similar  habits  resorted  to  a  grove  of  spe- 
cially large  pines  just  out  of  Scotland  village,  in  the  town  of 
Bridgewater.  My  first  acquaintance  with  them  was  made  one 
ninth  of  March,  when  I  saw  a  tail  projecting  from  a  nest, 
sixty-six  feet  from  the  ground,  and  at  one  blow  on  the  trunk 
drove  off  the  owl,  evidently  preparing  to  lay.  Though 
robbed  of  their  eggs  every  year  by  a  friend  of  mine,  the  pair 
remained  faithful  in  their  attachment  to  this  fine  grove,  and 
probably  raised  a  brood  from  their  second  laying  each  year. 
Once  the  second  set  of  eggs  was  discovered  in  an  open 
hollow  on  the  top  of  a  dead  stump.  That  time  they  had 
three  eggs,  though  two  is  usually  all  they  can  produce  at 
the  second  attempt. 

It  is  not  true  that  the  large  owls  nest  only  in  the  deep 
forests.  They  prefer,  indeed,  a  very  retired  location,  but  in 
many  sections  such  cannot  be  found.  So,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
they  are  likely  to  select  some  grove  of  old,  large  timber  on 
the  outskirts  of  any  rather  lonely  farm.  Of  the  two  species 
already  mentioned,  the  Barred  Owl  seems  to  be  the  less  re- 
tiring in  haunts  and  habits. 

It  is  easy  to  remember  what  owls  one  is  likely  to  find  nest- 
ing in  New  England.  There  are  two  large  ones,  two  medium, 
and  two  small.  The  two  big  ones  have  just  been  dealt  with, 


OWL  SECRETS  303 

and  we  will  now  consider  the  two  medium-sized  fellows,  but 
only  briefly,  as  I  have  not  been  able,  as  yet,  to  photograph 
them  in  the  East.  They  are  the  Long-eared  and  Short-eared 
Owls.  The  latter  is  a  bird  of  the  open  marshes,  particularly 
on  the  seacoast,  and  is  not  at  all  plenty,  save  as  a  migrant. 
I  have  never  seen  its  nest  in  New  England,  though  it  is 
known  to  breed  at  places  where  I  have  been,  such  as  Martha's 
Vineyard  and  Chatham.  But  in  autumn  I  have  often  flushed 
it  singly  from  marshes  or  bushy  tracts  along  the  coast,  and 
sometimes  inland. 

The  Long-eared  Owl  is  much  more  common  and  breeds 
regularly  in  pineries  and  cedar  swamps,  but  it  is  so  retiring 
that  it  is  largely  overlooked.  Few  naturalists  have  ever  heard 
its  hooting.  Early  one  morning,  years  ago,  I  heard  a  long- 
drawn,  wailing  cry,  twice  or  thrice  repeated,  that  seemed  to 
proceed  from  a  cedar  swamp,  near  the  Weld  farm,  West 
Roxbury,  Massachusetts.  Investigation  revealed  a  Long-eared 
Owl  roosting  in  the  dense  cedars,  the  probable  author  of  the 
sounds.  In  such  situations  I  have  often  found  them,  and 
there  they  sometimes  breed,  as,  indeed,  they  did  in  this  par- 
ticular swamp,  with  the  Night  Herons,  though  they  often, 
perhaps  usually  in  New  England,  choose  tall  pines,  content- 
ing themselves  with  an  old  nest. 

No  owl's  nest,  save  that  of  the  Screech  Owl,  perhaps,  is 
harder  to  find.  The  reason  is  that  the  bird  usually  can  neither 
be  seen  from  the  ground  nor  made  to  fly.  As  there  are 
hundreds  of  old  nests  in  the  evergreen  groves  and  swamps, 
it  is  impossible  for  the  searcher  to  climb  them  all,  and  thus 
he  may  pass  under  the  brooding  owl  without  knowing  it.  A 
friend  of  mine,  traversing  a  grove  through  which  I  had  often 
gone,  happened  to  notice  on  one  of  the  old  squirrels'  nests 
a  clinging  fragment  of  gray  down.  He  could  start  nothing, 
but  finally  climbed  the  tree,  and  when  close  up  to  the  nest, 


304  WILD  WINGS 

some  forty  feet  from  the  ground,  he  was  rewarded  by  seeing 
a  Long-eared  Owl  reluctantly  leave,  disclosing  five  downy 
owlets. 

A  similar  incident  gave  me  a  delightful  experience.  Camp- 
ing on  an  islet  in  Lake  Winnepesaukee  early  one  June, 
I  landed  one  morning  on  Bear  Island  and  explored  a  tract  of 
large  trees,  mostly  hemlocks.  Halfway  up  one  of  the  largest 
of  the  latter  I  soon  espied  a  bulky  nest  of  sticks,  and  under 
it  white  egg-shells  and  droppings.  Presently  I  was  seated 
astride  an  adjoining  branch,  watching  with  eager  interest 
the  four  half-grown  owlets  of  this  species  that  stood  up  in  the 
nest  and  with  bristling  feathers,  angry  hisses,  and  snappings 
of  their  beaks  menaced  their  unwelcome  visitor.  Suddenly 
the  mother  appeared  on  the  scene.  Seldom  have  I  heard 
such  an  outcry  from  a  bird  throat.  She  hopped  or  flitted 
uneasily  from  branch  to  branch  only  about  a  dozen  feet 
from  me,  mewing  like  a  cat,  wailing  like  a  lynx,  fairly  scream- 
ing with  fear  and  indignation,  and  as  an  interlude  snapping 
her  bill  so  rapidly  as  to  suggest  the  roll  of  a  watchman's 
rattle.  Father  Owl  allowed  me  only  fleeting  glimpses  of 
himself  at  a  respectful  distance,  as  he  approached  to  assist 
his  agonized  mate,  only  to  retreat  as  his  scant  courage  was 
exhausted.  This  continued  as  long  as  I  remained  in  the  tree, 
about  half  an  hour. 

Minded  to  have  a  pet  or  two,  I  returned  to  camp  for  a  basket. 
One  of  the  young  owls  fell  from  the  nest  as  I  started  down, 
and  I  put  it  on  a  stub  for  safety  from  prowlers.  When  I 
returned  in  the  afternoon,  the  youngster  on  the  stub  had 
disappeared,  as  well  as  one  from  the  nest.  The  female  was 
now  as  shy  as  she  had  been  bold,  only  barely  venturing  within 
sight.  Curious  to  know  whither  the  parents  had  transported 
their  young,  I  climbed  to  every  nest  I  could  discover  within 
a  considerable  radius,  numbering  not  a  few,  but  all  in  vain. 


OWL  SECRETS 


305 


ADULT  SCREECH   OWL.    HIDING    POSE 


The  remaining"  young  I  carried  home  with  me.   Fed  on  raw 
meat,  they  grew  up  and  made  interesting  pets. 

There  remain  now  the  two  little  fellows  —  the  Screech 
and  the  Saw-whet  or  Acadian  Owls  —  for  us  as  "  owlers  "  to 
consider.  The  tremulous  hooting  of  the  Screech  Owl  is  still 
a  common  sound  in  rural  New  England,  and  is  even  heard 
in  towns  and  villages.  I  love  to  sit  on  my  piazza  of  a  moon- 
light night  in  autumn  and  be  serenaded  by  one  of  the  little 
fellows  from  a  Norway  spruce  near  by.  But  though  they 
be  ever  so  common,  it  is  seldom  that  one  is  seen.  Most  often 


306  WILD  WINGS 

I  see  them  at  dusk,  when  just  out  of  the  hole  for  the  nightly 
hunt,  perched  on  a  tree  by  the  roadside  or  in  the  orchard. 
One  afternoon  in  early  spring  I  was  driving  home  at  dusk, 
when,  hearing  one  of  these  owls,  I  stopped  to  listen.  The 
sound  came  from  somewhere  close  at  hand,  but  for  some 
time  I  could  not  locate  it,  until  finally,  looking  directly  up, 
there  I  saw  the  little  rogue  within  a  few  feet  of  me,  peering 
down  and  hooting  merrily  at  me,  as  though  in  friendly  ridi- 
cule. 

Now  and  then  I  succeed  in  ferreting  them  out,  especially 
in  the  winter,  by  looking  for  their  disgorged  pellets  under 
holes  in  trees,  in  orchards  particularly.  These  are  owls'  "  at 
home  "  cards.  The  little  dignitary  will  very  likely  be  found 
asleep  within,  and  can  usually  be  pulled  out  unresisting.  Of- 
ten he  will  feign  death  and  lie  perfectly  limp,  with  eyes  half- 
closed.  But,  if  not  watched,  he  will  suddenly  come  to  life,  and 
beofl. 

It  is  wonderfully  hard  to  find  the  nest,  considering  that  the 
little  owl  is  so  common.  I  have  actually  found  more  nests 
of  the  scarcer  and  wilder  Great  Horned  Owl  than  of  our  tame 
little  friend  that  abounds  all  about  us.  The  eggs  are  laid 
on  the  rotten  wood  at  the  bottom  of  a  tree-hollow,  wherever 
a  suitable  one  is  found.  It  may  even  be  right  in  the  door- 
yard,  in  a  shade-tree  on  the  village  or  even  city  street,  or 
in  the  orchard,  as  well  as  in  the  groves  or  forests.  There 
the  brooding  owl  sits  like  a  statue,  and  nothing  on  earth 
will  move  her,  but  force.  Moreover  she  is  careful  in  nesting- 
time  not  to  betray  the  location  by  droppings  under  her  door. 
When  the  young  are  hatched,  the  parents  will  bring  food, 
beginning  at  dusk,  and  this  will  sometimes  reveal  the  secret. 
A  brood  were  raised  every  year  in  a  lofty  hole  of  a  great 
elm  in  Bedford,  Massachusetts,  just  over  the  front  door  of 
the  house,  and  I  greatly  enjoyed  the  sight  when  the  owls 


OWL  SECRETS 


307 


issued  forth  each  evening  to  receive  food  and  practise  flying. 
One  of  them  fluttered  down  one  night  and  gave  us  the 
privilege  of  a  closer  inspection. 

Sometimes  one  will  happen  upon  a  Screech  Owls'  nest 
by  some  fortunate  chance.  Two  boys  were  walking  out  one 
afternoon,  early  in  May.  Happening  to  notice  a  Flickers' 
hole  in  a  low  stub  out  in  a  field,  one  of  them  climbed  up, 
put  in  his  hand,  and  pulled  out  an  unresisting  Screech  Owl. 
They  carried  it  home  and  tried  to  feed  it  on  corn,  —  which 
was  as  reasonable  as  for  themselves  to  eat  hay  !  After  three 


SCREECH    OWL.    "  COMING   TO    LIFE 


308  WILD  WINGS 

days  one  of  them  brought  the  owl  to  my  home  in  a  paper 
bag.  It  was  evening,  and  I  had  just  returned  from  a  drive. 
I  saw  from  the  worn  plumage  of  the  bird  that  she  was  a 
mother.  The  boy  protested  that  there  was  nothing  else  in  the 
hole,  but  I  knew  better.  Next  day  I  had  him  show  me  the 
place. 

As  I  climbed  the  stub,  I  detected  the  odor  of  decay.  "  Poor 
little  things,"  I  thought;  "  starved!"  However,  I  reached  in, 
and  instantly  something  seized  the  end  of  one  of  my  fingers, 
and  I  drew  out  a  puny,  downy  little  owlet,  hanging  on  for 
dear  life.  Again  I  put  in  my  hand,  and  had  another  "  bite." 
This  I  kept  up  till  I  had  the  whole  brood  of  six.  Down  at  the 
very  bottom  were  six  or  eight  mice  which  the  mother  had 
brought  them,  now  badly  decayed.  The  owlets  were  too 
young  to  tear  them,  and  evidently  the  father  had  left  his 
motherless  children  to  their  fate. 

Taking  them  home,  I  fed  them,  and  put  them  in  a  box  with 
their  mother.  Meat  which  I  left  was  evidently  fed  to  them  all 
each  night  by  the  old  bird.  After  a  few  nights  she  escaped, 
and  the  young  were  again  motherless.  One  puny  little  runt 
died,  but  the  rest  flourished  and  made  very  interesting  pets, 
which  I  photographed  from  time  to  time  in  their  various 
stages.  One  of  them  had  one  eye  smaller  than  the  other, 
a  deformity  which  I  also  observed  in  one  other  Screech  Owl. 
Two  escaped  and  another  died,  but  two  of  them  are  yet  alive 
and  well,  after  three  years  of  captivity. 

About  the  only  way,  ordinarily,  of  solving  the  Screech  Owl's 
nesting  secret  is  to  peer  into  every  likely  tree-hollow,  and  now 
and  then  one  will  be  rewarded.  One  day,  the  thirteenth  of 
April,  I  glanced  into  a  low  hole  in  an  apple-tree.  Two  bright 
eyes  glowed  like  coals  at  the  bottom,  and  at  length  I  could 
make  out  the  owl  shrinking  over  on  her  side,  and  disclosing 
three  eggs,  about  the  size  of  those  of  pigeons. 


OWL  SECRETS 


309 


TWO    OF   THE   YOUNG   SCREECH    OWLS    IN    FIRST    PLUMAGE 

On  the  twenty-seventh  of  the  same  month  I  was  in  a  swampy 
tract  of  large  timber,  in  which  were  many  hollows.  It  was  im- 
possible to  climb  to  most  of  them,  but  a  Saw- whet  Owl  had  been 
"  whetting  "  nightly  in  these  woods,  and  I  was  on  the  lookout. 
Finally  I  saw  a  rather  large  round  hole  in  an  oak,  twenty  feet 
up,  that  looked  so  especially  inviting  that  I  climbed  and  looked 
in.  There  was  no  Saw-whet,  but  on  the  bottom,  less  than  a  foot 
from  the  entrance,  sat  a  Screech  Owl,  in  the  gray  phase  of  plum- 
age. She  made  not  the  slightest  motion  or  resistance  as  I  drew 
her  out,  and  examined  her  five  eggs.  All  the  time  she  feigned 
death,  and,  when  placed  back  in  the  nest,  she  went  on  with 
her  task  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Though  I  did  not  at  this  time  see  anything  of  the  Saw- 
whet,  I  was  still  exulting  over  a  discovery  made  shortly 


310  WILD  WINGS 

before,  on  the  eighteenth  of  April.  I  had  casually  met  this 
owl  in  my  rambles,  but  never  had  learned  the  secret  of  its 
nesting,  which  is  a  rare  occurrence  in  southern  New  England. 
This  day,  searching  for  hawks'  nests  in  the  pine  woods,  I  came 
to  a  clearing  in  which  stood  near  together  two  solitary  dead 
pine  stubs,  in  one  of  which  were  several  holes  made  by  the 
Flicker.  Arriving  beneath  these  holes,  I  noticed  some  sort 
of  excrescence  projecting  from  the  stub,  partly  around  on 
the  other  side,  about  fifteen  feet  up,  and  stepped  to  where 
it  could  be  better  viewed.  My  heart  almost  stopped  beating ! 
A  round  disk  filled  one  of  the  woodpecker  cavities.  A  pair 
of  tiny  yellow  eyes  gazed  fixedly  upon  me.  It  was  no  ordi- 
nary sight ;  an  owl,  but  no  common  Screech  Owl.  It  had  no 
ear-tufts,  and  was  much  smaller,  —  the  Saw-whet  or  Acadian 
Owl! 

There  is  no  telling  how  long  I  stood  transfixed  watching 
the  owl,  and  the  owl,  equally  motionless,  watched  me.  But 
the  owl  was  victor,  for  an  aching  neck  at  length  interrupted 
my  gaze.  Then  I  lay  down  on  the  dry  leaves,  and,  in  an 
easier  posture,  continued  to  watch.  All  the  while  the  owl 
stared  fixedly,  and  now  and  then  blinked.  The  sun  shone 
strong  and  hot,  and  the  bird  of  night  was  right  in  the  glare. 
Sometimes  it  would  close  its  eyes,  and  appear  asleep.  But, 
at  the  slightest  movement  on  my  part,  the  yellow  orbs  would 
instantly  open.  Finally  the  little  creature,  thinking  me  harm- 
less, slid  back  into  her  cool  and  shady  retreat  within  the 
stub. 

I  tried  the  effect  of  a  slight  noise  at  the  foot  of  the  tree.  Up 
popped  the  little  round  head.  A  gentle  kick  on  the  stub  made 
her  come  part  way  out  of  the  hole,  ready  to  fly ;  so  I  care- 
fully retreated  a  few  paces.  The  owl  watched  me  awhile,  and 
then  withdrew,  appearing  again  as  I  approached  to  see  if 
there  were  any  droppings  under  the  hole.  There  was  nothing 


OWL  SECRETS  311 

but  a  small  spatter  of  dung  and  a  single  feather  nearly  cov- 
ered with  dead  leaves.  Certainly  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  locate  the  bird  above  by  any  telltale  signs. 

For  fear  that  the  owl  might  desert,  in  case  she  had  not  laid 
her  eggs,  and  not  knowing  then  the  usual  date  for  that  event, 
I  decided  to  ascertain  this  from  the  books  before  further  dis- 
turbing her.  Leaving  her  to  disappear  down  the  hole  as  I 
retired,  I  returned  home.  The  scant  references  to  the  breed- 
ing of  this  owl  gave  it  as  occurring  in  early  April. 

It  was  Saturday,  and,  not  daring  to  wait  till  Monday,  at  ten 
o'clock  in  the  evening  I  drove  off  with  my  wife,  like  a  pair 
of  owls  ourselves,  after  the  other  owl.  With  lighted  lantern 
I  left  the  team,  and  stumbled  off  into  the  woods.  After  some 
blundering,  —  for  things  looked  very  differently  in  the  woods 
by  lamp-light,  —  I  struck  the  right  path,  and  a  half-mile  tramp 
brought  me  to  the  stub.  The  little  head  appeared,  as  before. 
At  once  I  set  the  lantern  down,  and  began  to  climb.  Out 
flitted  the  silent  owl,  off  to  the  edge  of  the  woods,  to  alight 
there. 

I  was  soon  at  the  hole,  and,  holding  on  by  the  right  arm, 
I  thrust  in  the  left,  which  had  been  bared.  At  first  the  hole 
seemed  too  deep  for  me  to  reach  the  bottom,  and  foolishly, 
I  had  brought  no  knife.  With  determination  I  squeezed  in 
the  poor  member,  till  it  was  almost  bleeding  from  contact  with 
the  rough  wood.  Then  came  a  sort  of  electric  thrill,  as  the 
finger  tips  came  in  contact  with  some  smooth,  round  objects. 
It  seemed  impossible  to  grasp  them,  but  at  length,  by  even 
more  painful  forcing,  I  managed  to  insert  fingers  under  one 
egg,  and  draw  it  out.  How  many  were  there  was  the  next 
question.  The  bird  is  said  to  lay  from  three  to  seven.  Pro- 
ceeding after  the  same  manner,  I  at  length  had  five,  and  no 
further  fumbling  could  discover  more.  I  could  see  in  the  dim 
light  that  they  were  of  a  dull  white  color,  quite  round,  and 


3i2  WILD  WINGS 

about  the  size  of  the  eggs  of  the  Flicker  or  of  the  Mourning 
Dove. 

Meanwhile  the  owl  had  returned,  and  was  perched  on  the 
adjacent  stub,  some  ten  feet  away,  silently  watching  me,  with- 
out exhibiting  any  token  of  impatience  or  anger.  Never  do 
I  remember  a  more  weird  experience.  After  eleven  o'clock 
on  an  inky  night,  up  a  tree  in  lonely  woods,  the  lantern  below 
throwing  long  sombre  shadows,  and  the  spectre-like  owl 
watching  me  with  glowing  yellow  eyes.  I  thoroughly  enjoyed 
the  ghostly  outlook,  but  it  was  late,  and  I  descended.  At  once 
the  owl  flew  back  into  the  hole.  A  parting  tap  brought  the 
disk-like  face  to  the  opening  again.  As  I  withdrew,  I  turned 
back  just  in  time  to  see  the  little  creature  sink  back  into  her 
domicile.  Two  weeks  later  I  found  her  there,  not  a  whit  dis- 
couraged, incubating  another  set  of  four  eggs. 

Since  then  I  have  discovered  many  more  "  owl  secrets," 
but  not  one  has  given  me  more  unalloyed  delight  than  the 
revelation  of  that  midnight  vigil  on  the  lonely  forest  stub 
under  the  glare  of  the  yellow  orbs  of  the  smallest  of  the  owls. 


THE  SCREECH  OWL  AND  HER  CHILDREN 


;  STARED   OFF   IN    SUCH    AN    INTERESTED    AND    SPIRITED    ATTITUDE 


CHAPTER  XVII 


ADVENTURES    WITH    GREAT    HORNED    OWLS 

O,  ivhen  the  night  falls,  and  roosts  the  fowl, 
Then,  then  is  the  reign  of  the  horned  owl. 

CORNWALL. 

I  AM  free  to  confess  that  no  other  bird  gives  me  the  same 
thrill  of  ecstasy  as  the  Great  Horned  Owl  in  its  native 
forests.    Savage  and  destructive  though  it  is,  there  is 
a  majesty  in  the  appearance  and  character  of  the  splendid 
creature  which  compels  admiration.    Owing  to  its  intractable 
wildness  and  secluded  haunts,  there  is  no  bird  more  difficult 
to  observe  and  know.    Hardy  above  all  our  birds,  it  makes 
or  selects  a  great  nest  in  the  most  inaccessible  woodland 


3i4  WILD  WINGS 

tracts,  often  in  the  heart  of  some  great  swamp  or  on  a  wild 
mountain-side,  and  lays  its  large  white  eggs  —  usually  but 
two  —  in  the  bitterest  winter  weather,  usually  the  latter  part 
of  February,  or  by  the  very  first  of  March.  From  boyhood 
my  feeling  has  been  that  it  was  a  supreme  triumph  of  an 
ornithologist's  field-work  to  trace  out  the  great  feathered  tiger 
to  its  lair,  and  in  particular  to  discover  its  nest.  And  when 
came  the  era  of  hunting  birds  with  a  camera,  my  highest  ideal 
of  attaining  the  dizzy  pinnacle  of  success  was  to  be  able  to 
photograph  the  Great  Horned  Owl,  wild  and  free,  by  or  upon 
its  nest. 

How  vividly  I  recall  the  excitement  of  the  discovery  of  my 
first  Great  Horned  Owl's  eggs.  It  was  in  a  wild  region  of 
extensive  pine  swamps  in  southeastern  Massachusetts.  A  cer- 
tain farmer  for  thirty  years  back  had  heard  the  hootings  of 
a  pair  of  these  owls  from  a  lonely  swamp,  where  there  still 
remained  a  rare  tract  of  virgin  timber.  I  asked  him  to  try 
and  locate  them  for  me  that  winter  by  their  hootings,  so  that 
I  might  find  their  nest  in  the  spring. 

The  time  came,  at  length,  for  the  hunt.  It  was  the  eighth 
of  March,  a  fine  bright  day.  Early  in  the  morning  I  drove 
the  eight  miles  over  rough,  frozen  roads,  through  a  country 
of  pine  tracts  and  cedar  swamps,  to  the  retired  farm.  The 
owner  told  me  that  lumbermen  had  been  cutting  off  the  old 
swamp,  but  that  the  owls  had  hooted  frequently  in  another 
tract  of  woods  in  the  opposite  direction,  where  he  could  often 
hear  the  crows  mobbing  them. 

Taking  him  as  guide,  we  struck  into  these  woods,  which 
consisted  of  tall  pines  and  deciduous  timber  on  swampy  land, 
with  considerable  undergrowth  of  bushes  and  horse-briars. 
Our  course  was  well  taken,  for  we  had  not  gone  a  half-mile 
before  a  Great  Horned  Owl  flapped  majestically  out  from 
a  tree  before  us,  scaled  down  toward  the  ground,  and  soared 


GREAT   HORNED   OWLS  315 

off  just  over  the  tops  of  the  bushes.  There  was  no  nest  here, 
so  we  kept  on  toward  a  clump  of  large  pines  which  we  could 
just  see.  When  we  came  within  gunshot  of  it,  out  flew  an 
even  larger  owl,  —  the  female.  I  hurried  forward,  and  saw, 
some  forty  feet  up  a  yellow  pine,  a  great  nest  of  sticks,  which 
must  have  measured  a  yard  or  more  across.  From  its  edges, 
as  well  as  from  neighboring  limbs  and  twigs,  bits  of  tawny 
yellowish  down  were  fluttering  in  the  breeze.  At  last  my 
long-cherished  desire  was  to  be  gratified ;  I  had  found  the 
nest  of  the  Great  Horned  Owl.  Somehow  the  place  had 
a  familiar  look,  and  it  suddenly  came  to  me  that  this  nest  was 
one  which  I  had  found  the  season  before,  occupied  by  a  pair 
of  Red-tailed  Hawks ;  we  had  approached  it  from  a  new 
direction. 

The  tree  was  nearly  limbless,  and  in  my  eagerness  I  was  in 
such  haste  that,  when  I  reached  the  first  limb,  I  was  consider- 
ably winded.  A  moment's  rest,  and  then  at  it  again,  and  I 
was  soon  there.  The  great  nest  was  quite  shallow,  and  on  the 
comfortable  lining  of  bark,  sprays  of  pine  foliage,  owl-down, 
and  feathers  lay  the  two  great  round  white  eggs.  Meanwhile 
the  mother  owl  returned.  She  alighted  upon  the  dead  limb 
of  an  enormous  pine,  fully  one  hundred  feet  from  the  ground, 
where  she  stood  majestically  outlined  against  the  blue  sky. 
At  once  a  flock  of  crows  discovered  her,  and  began  to  swoop, 
cawing  excitedly.  The  owl  would  dodge,  snap  her  bill  with  a 
loud  clicking  sound,  and  now  and  then  utter  an  angry  "  whoo- 
whoo,"  her  ear-tufts  erected  and  her  yellow  eyes  blazing  with 
indignation.  Seldom  have  I  felt  more  delighted  and  exult- 
ant than  while  lingering  in  that  tree-top  in  the  breeze  and 
sunshine  of  that  splendid  morning  of  March,  with  the  Great 
Horned  Owl,  her  nest  and  eggs  before  me.  That  same  season 
also  it  was  my  good  fortune  to  find  two  other  nests  of  this  owl, 
all  in  last  season's  nests  of  Red-tailed  Hawks  ! 


3i6  WILD   WINGS 

The  time  came  when,  becoming  more  skilled  in  the  hand- 
ling of  the  camera,  I  determined,  if  it  were  possible,  to  photo- 
graph the  wary  owl  on  or  by  her  nest,  and  attain  the  crown- 
ing triumph  of  camera-hunting,  in  the  mastering  of  difficulties 
almost  insuperable.  The  first  thing  was  to  find  a  nest,  but 
it  seemed  that  I  must  suffer  defeat  at  this  initial  stage.  After 
many  long,  hard  tramps  I  found  one,  about  the  middle  of  April. 
It  was  in  a  lofty  fork  of  a  very  tall  chestnut  tree,  as  usual,  an 
old  nest  of  the  Red-tail,  which  had  nearly  all  crumbled  away, 
leaving  only  a  very  precarious  perch  for  the  one  owlet  of  con- 
siderable size  and  its  most  wary  mother.  The  latter  was  so 
exceedingly  shy  that  it  was  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
that  I  could  come  even  within  sight  of  the  nest  before  she 
flew.  Nor  would  she  return  as  long  as  I  remained  anywhere 
in  the  vicinity.  The  case  was  absolutely  hopeless. 

It  took  four  years'  tramping  to  find  another  nest  of  the 
Great  Horned  Owl.  Then,  on  the  ninth  of  March,  a  rainy  day, 
I  started  to  explore  a  large  wild  timber-tract  on  the  sides 
and  top  of  a  mountain  in  western  Connecticut  where  owls 
had  been  heard  to  hoot.  Year  after  year  I  had  climbed  and 
tramped  this  mountain  in  vain,  so  that  I  had  no  especial  hope 
of  success.  About  halfway  up,  growing  at  the  foot  of  a  rather 
steep  ledge,  was  a  massive  rock  oak,  in  a  fork  of  which,  about 
sixty  feet  up,  had  been  for  years  a  large  hawks'  nest,  which 
I  always  examined.  The  season  before,  a  pair  of  Red-tails 
had  occupied  it.  I  visited  it  this  time,  on  the  way,  as  a  matter 
of  course. 

As  I  caught  sight  of  the  nest  through  the  trees,  my  heart 
gave  an  exultant  bound.  It  had  evidently  been  rebuilt,  and 
two  knobs  projected  from  it,  outlined  against  the  sky.  They 
were  the  ear-tufts  of  a  Great  Horned  Owl !  I  was  at  least 
two  gunshots  from  the  nest,  but  the  big  owl  saw  me,  and 
stood  up,  ready  to  fly.  To  photograph  in  the  rain,  was,  of 


GREAT   HORNED   OWLS 

course,  impossible,  and  I  quietly  withdrew  to  devise  a  future 
plan  of  attack. 

The  situation  of  the  nest  was  quite  favorable.   Though  the 
massive  tree,  with  its  rough,  scaly  bark,  was  almost  unclimb- 


VIEW   OF   THE   GREAT    HORNED    OWL   ON    HER    NEST 

able,  from  the  ledge  above  one  was  practically  halfway  up, 
and  thence  grew  more  slender  trees,  on  some  of  which  one 
could  climb  to  within  fifteen  feet  of  the  nest.  There  one 
might  screw  up  a  camera,  and  "pull  the  string"  on  the  owl 
from  a  distance.  She  might  also  be  photographed  from  the 
ground  as  she  stood  up  in  the  nest,  or  looked  over  the  edge. 


318  WILD   WINGS 

The  first  problem  was  how  to  gain  a  close  approach  with- 
out being  seen  by  the  watchful  owl.  Studying  upon  this,  the 
thought  came  to  me  of  an  elderly  man  in  town  who  for  years 
had  carried  a  faded  brown  umbrella  almost  the  exact  color 
of  the  dead  leaves  in  the  woods.  For  a  consideration,  said 
umbrella  presently  became  my  property.  A  strip  of  brown 
cambric  suspended  from  the  edge  of  its  circumference  trans- 
formed it  into  a  portable  tent.  Trimmed  with  a  few  hem- 
lock sprays  and  dead  oak  leaves,  the  structure  was  almost 
invisible  in  the  woods. 

Three  days  later  I  tried  it.  Nearly  an  hour  was  consumed 
in  sneaking  up  to  the  nest.  Without  the  rustling  of  a  leaf  or 
the  crackling  of  a  twig  I  had  reached  the  nearest  point,  and 
there  sat  the  brooding  owl,  her  head  showing  above  the  nest. 
Carefully  I  set  the  camera  up  on  the  shortened  tripod,  behind 
the  umbrella,  and  then  made  timed  exposures  upon  the 
motionless  bird.  This  done,  I  would  fain  catch  a  snap-shot 
as  she  stood  up  to  fly.  So  I  made  ready,  and,  bulb  in  hand, 
rustled  the  leaves.  No  response.  Now  I  knocked  on  a  tree  ; 
the  owl  did  not  stir.  And  so  it  went  till  I  shouted,  and  then 
stood  out  in  plain  sight.  The  owl  moved  not  so  much  as 
an  ear-tuft.  Her  eyes  were  half-opened.  Was  she  dead  and 
frozen,  or  asleep,  or  what? 

The  thought  now  occurred  to  me  that,  since  the  owl  was 
so  impassive,  perhaps  I  could  climb  the  neighboring  tree 
without  alarming  her.  So  buckling  on  the  climbers,  with  the 
camera  slung  over  my  shoulder,  I  began  the  ascent,  feeling 
almost  certain  that  she  would  fly.  But  there  she  sat,  and 
soon  I  was  on  a  level  with  the  nest,  only  twenty  feet  from 
the  object  of  my  desires.  In  order  to  be  sure  of  a  good  pic- 
ture, of  sufficient  size,  it  was  necessary  to  use  the  single  long- 
focus  lens  of  my  doublet,  and  hence  to  set  up  the  camera  and 
focus.  I  expected  to  see  the  owl  leave  as  soon  as  I  began  to 


WHEN    IT    WAS    ABOUT    TWO    MONTHS    OLD 


GREAT   HORNED   OWLS  321 

do  this,  but  she  did  not.  Then  everything  seemed  to  go 
wrong ;  the  apparatus  was  not  in  perfect  order,  my  footing 
was  precarious,  and  the  wind  was  blowing.  For  over  an  hour 
I  fussed  with  the  screw-bolt,  clamps,  and  camera.  At  last  it 
was  fixed  ;  I  made  four  exposures,  and  should  have  descended 
from  the  tree  without  alarming  her  had  I  not  maintained 
a  shouted  conversation  with  my  companion  who  had  been 
hiding  at  a  distance,  which  finally  caused  her  to  fly  and  reveal 
her  eggs.  The  vigil  in  the  dark-room  brought  four  good 
pictures.  But  the  sun  had  so  glanced  on  the  owl's  back  as  to 
make  her  appear  almost  white,  and  I  decided  that  on  an 
overcast  day  I  could  do  better  work.  So  I  made  another 
trip  with  a  companion,  walking  boldly  up  with  him  to  the 
tree,  climbing,  and  at  my  leisure  securing  a  splendid  series 
of  pictures.  When  I  wanted  to  photograph  the  eggs,  my 
friend  had  to  throw  stones  quite  a  while  before  the  owl  would 
fly. 

From  time  to  time  I  visited  the  nest  again.  The  young 
were  safely  hatched  in  the  early  part  of  April.  From  now  on 
the  old  bird  became  more  and  more  shy,  until  one  could  not 
approach  anywhere  near  her.  On  the  eighteenth  of  the 
month,  when  the  downy  owlets  were  strong  enough  to  sit 
up,  I  photographed  them.  It  was  a  windy  day,  when  furious 
gusts  from  the  northwest  made  the  tree  on  which  I  was  bend 
like  a  reed,  and  obliged  me  to  hug  it,  and  hang  on  for  dear 
life.  I  also  succeeded  in  photographing  the  old  owl  several 
times,  as  she  returned  to  her  young,  by  screwing  the  camera 
up  in  a  tree,  attaching  a  two  hundred-yard  spool  of  black 
linen  thread  to  the  shutter,  and  from  my  place  of  conceal- 
ment farther  up  the  mountain,  lying  behind  a  fallen  trunk 
for  nearly  an  hour  at  a  time,  pulling  the  end  of  the  thread, 
as  the  owl  returned  to  her  accustomed  branch  before  entering 
the  nest. 


322  WILD   WINGS 

Two  days  later,  happy  over  the  results  of  hunting  with  the 
camera  this  prince  among  birds,  I  started  off  for  southern 
Florida.  A  friend  kindly  took  for  me  from  the  nest  one  of 
the  young  owls,  about  the  tenth  of  May,  when  they  were 


NEST  AND  EGGS  OF  THE  GREAT  HORNED  OWL 

nearly  ready  to  fly,  and  had  climbed  out  on  the  branches. 
Soon  after  my  return  I  photographed  it,  on  the  first  of  June, 
when  it  was  about  two  months  old. 

Though  this  particular  mother  owl  did  not  make  any 
attack,  I  know  of  various  instances  when  they  have  done 
so.  One  was  that  same  season,  the  last  of  March,  when 
a  companion  of  many  of  my  owl-hunts  climbed  to  the 
nest  of  a  Great  Horned  Owl  —  one  of  my  old  Red-tail  nests 
of  former  years,  in  a  large  white  pine.  The  young  were 


GREAT   HORNED   OWLS 


323 


just  hatching,  but  the  owl  flew  as  he  approached.  When  he 
was  halfway  up  the  tree  the  owl  swooped  from  behind  and 
struck  him  a  terrible  blow  with  her  talons,  tearing  his  scalp 
quite  badly.  After  this  she  kept  her  distance. 


•THE   YOUNG   WERE   SAFELY    HATCHED 


The  Great  Horned  Owls  aforementioned  next  year  had 
abandoned  their  old  nesting-site.  A  sawmill  had  been  located 
on  that  side  of  the  mountain,  and  what  I  feared  had  indeed 
happened.  Climbing  and  wading  laboriously  through  the 
deep  snow  early  in  March,  I  stood,  perspiring  and  regretful, 
gazing  upon  the  stump  of  the  ancient  rock  oak  which  had 
held  far  aloft  the  great  nest  of  sticks  in  which  those  splendid 
owls  had  reared  their  young.  Why  could  not  that  avaricious 
lumber  company  have  realized  that  that  was  an  owl-tree  ? 


324  WILD   WINGS 

What  sane  person  would  dare  deliberately  "  to  break  up " 
a  pair  of  Great  Horned  Owls,  above  all  birds  ?  But  people 
are  not  all  like  me. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  begin  the  search  anew,  and 
for  days  and  days  I  vainly  explored  the  cold  and  silent  wintry 
woods.  Meanwhile,  all  unknown  to  me,  a  dozen  miles  away, 
another  man  was  in  the  woods.  He  was  not  looking  for  owls, 
but  vigorously  wielding  the  axe  that  cold  first  day  of  bluster- 
ing March.  The  fierce  winter  of  1903-04  showed  no  sign 
of  abatement ;  everything  was  locked  in  ice  and  snow.  As 
he  worked,  he  noticed  that  a  flock  of  crows  kept  up  a  great 
racket  in  a  neighboring  grove  of  heavy  deciduous  timber. 
After  a  time  he  decided  to  go  and  see  what  was  the  trouble. 
Walking  quietly  up,  he  saw  the  black  rascals  swooping 
excitedly  about  a  certain  chestnut  tree.  In  its  top  fork  was 
a  platform  of  sticks,  from  which  projected  a  dark  mass  which 
ended  in  two  peculiar  knobs.  A  closer  approach  revealed 
two  round  yellow  eyes  gazing  fixedly  down  at  him.  He  was 
a  trained  woodsman,  and  knew  well  what  it  all  meant.  The 
crows  were  mobbing  a  Great  Horned  Owl  on  its  nest.  Most 
men  would  have  shot  the  owl,  but  he  possessed .  the  instincts 
of  a  true  naturalist,  and  preferred  to  watch  it  from  time  to 
time.  After  some  two  weeks  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had 
promised  to  write  to  me  should  he  find  anything  of  interest. 
So  one  night,  after  a  day  of  unremunerative  owl-hunting, 
I  received  a  very  welcome  letter. 

As  soon  as  possible,  early  on  March  19,  I  started  with 
a  youth  in  my  sleigh  for  the  locality,  which  was  some  eight 
miles  from  my  home  —  the  longest  eight  miles  I  ever  drove. 
It  was  uphill  all  the  way,  some  places  at  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees.  Now  it  was  partly  frozen  mud  or  bare  rocks,  and 
presently  we  floundered  through  a  softening  drift,  in  depth 
up  to  the  horse's  ears.  Eight  such  miles  was  a  morning's 


GREAT   HORNED    OWLS 


325 


AS  SHE  RETURNED  TO  HER  YOUNG 


drive.  It  was  mainly  through  woods,  and  as  I  neared  at  last 
the  locality  described  I  heard  crows  and  saw  a  number  of 
them  flying  about  over  a  grove  not  far  off  to  the  left  of  the 
road.  I  thought  that  this  must  be  the  place,  and  sure  enough 
it  was. 

Leaving  the  horse  at  the  home  of  my  informant,  we  all 
followed  the  wood-path,  through  the  deep  snow,  to  the  owl- 
preserve.  The  crows  were  still  excited,  but  one  of  them  gave 


326  WILD  WINGS 

a  warning  caw  as  it  saw  us,  and  away  they  all  went.  The 
owl  sat  upon  her  nest,  forty  feet  from  the  ground,  stolidly 
gazing  down  at  the  approaching  company,  making  no  move 
as  we  surrounded  the  tree,  and  as  I  took  photographs  of  her 
from  the  ground. 

The  question  then  was  as  to  how  near  her  she  would  let 
me  climb  with  the  camera.  Examining  the  surrounding  trees,. 
I  selected  a  black  birch  about  eighteen  feet  away,  —  south, 
toward  the  light,  —  and  likely  to  afford  the  best  opportunity. 
The  climbers  were  buckled  on,  camera  strapped  over  the 
shoulder,  and  I  began  the  ascent,  quietly,  pausing  now  and 
then  to  see  if  the  owl  was  getting  alarmed.  She  had  been 
facing  east,  but  now  she  turned  her  head  sidewise  toward  me, 
her  body  crouched  down  into  the  nest  as  far  as  possible.  It 
was  a  shrinking  attitude,  and  typical  of  all  owls'  attempts 
at  concealment,  —  the  feathers  drawn  closely  together  so  as 
to  look  as  small  as  possible,  the  eyes  closed  all  but  a  mere 
slit,  the  ear-tufts  erect,  like  snags  of  bark. 

As  she  did  not  move,  I  kept  on  till  I  was  upon  a  level  with 
the  nest.  Now,  would  she  let  me  work  and  rig  the  camera  ? 
Everything  was  favorable  except  one  small  branch  in  the 
way ;  I  must  try  to  remove  it.  Very  slowly  I  reached  out 
my  hand.  The  owl  shrank  back  a  trifle.  Taking  the  twig, 
I  snapped  it  as  softly  and  gently  as  I  could.  The  noise  was 
but  slight,  yet  the  owl  gave  a  nervous  start,  and  almost  de- 
cided to  fly.  Keeping  perfectly  still,  I  did  not  even  withdraw 
my  hand  for  a  couple  of  minutes,  till  she  seemed  reassured. 
Then  I  began  operations,  cautiously  and  with  deliberation  in 
every  movement,  driving  the  screw-bolt  into  the  limb,  taking 
my  camera  from  the  case,  opening  it,  clamping  it  to  the  bolt, 
adjusting  it  and  focusing  under  the  cloth,  — using  only  the 
front  lens  of  my  doublet,  to  secure  a  larger  image.  A  branch 
was  in  the  way  from  this  spot,  so  I  had  to  undo  everything, 


GREAT   HORNED   OWLS 


327 


select  a  spot  for  the  bolt  farther  out,  and  do  the  work  all  over. 
It  was  an  hour  and  a  half  before  I  was  ready  for  the  expos- 
ures, meanwhile  suffering  from  cramps  in  my  feet  and  legs 
from  their  constrained  attitudes.  The  sun  was  overcast,  just 
enough  for  soft  fine  detail  with  short  timed  exposures.  I  took 
a  series  of  them  timed  from  one  to  three  seconds  with  the 
lens  at  full  opening.  This  being  done,  I  packed  my  instru- 
ments and  descended,  without  starting  the  owl.  I  should  have 
liked  to  see  what  she  was  brooding  so  bravely,  but  I  was 
afraid  that  the  eggs  might  become  chilled  and  not  hatch. 


HER    BODY    CROUCHED    DOWN    INTO    THE    NEST 


328  WILD   WINGS 

My  next  visit  to  the  owl's  nest  was  on  the  sixth  of  April, 
this  time  with  my  wife.  The  thaw  was  well  under  way,  and 
the  condition  of  the  mountain  roads  something  dreadful.  The 
owl  was  on  her  nest  as  before.  My  purpose  now  was  to  set 
the  camera  near  the  nest  and  make  the  exposures  from  a  blind 
with  a  thread  just  as  she  alighted,  upon  her  return.  She 
allowed  me  to  climb  the  same  tree  as  before,  but  flew  just  as. 
I  reached  the  place  for  the  camera,  when  I  called  to  my  com- 
panion. On  the  edge  of  the  nest  was  part  of  a  rabbit,  and 
snuggled  down  deep  in  the  middle  was  a  heap  of  white  down, 
the  owl's  young. 

While  setting  the  camera,  I  was  unlucky  enough  to  tip  my 
carrying-case  too  far  over,  and  all  my  plate-holders  went 
scaling  down  upon  the  carpet  of  dead  leaves  and  sticks  forty 
feet  below.  My  feelings  may  be  imagined  as  I  resigned 
myself  to  the  thought  of  having  had  the  day's  hard  drive  for 
nothing.  I  felt  wonderfully  better  when  it  was  announced 
that  only  one  of  the  plate-holders  was  broken,  and  that  the 
plates  in  the  rest  seemed  to  be  sound.  Lowering  my  thread, 
one  of  the  holders  was  fastened  on,  which  I  then  drew  up  and 
inserted  in  the  camera.  The  latter  was  duly  focused  on  the 
nest,  and  I  then  attached  the  thread  to  the  shutter,  set  for 
an  exposure,  dropped  the  spool  end  to  the  ground,  and 
descended. 

The  place  that  I  selected  for  our  ambush  was  a  thick  clump 
of  green  mountain  laurel,  about  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
nest.  To  this  spot  I  carefully  laid  out  the  line  of  thread,  made 
a  dry  seat  of  bark  and  overcoats,  and  then  began  the  vigil, 
hardly  moving  my  eyes  from  the  nest,  which  I  could  see 
through  an  opening  in  the  leaves.  For  quite  a  while  not  a 
sound  broke  the  stillness.  Then  a  pair  of  Downy  Woodpeckers 
began  to  tap  on  a  tree,  and,  coming  near  us,  to  go  through 
their  mating  antics.  Soon  after  this  a  Red-shouldered  Hawk 


GREAT   HORNED   OWLS  329 

set  up  a  powerful  screaming  on  the  edge  of  the  grove,  and 
the  crows  went  after  him  in  full  chorus,  as  he  beat  a  retreat. 
Next  we  heard  quacking  and  the  whistling  of  wings,  as  four 
Black  Ducks  passed  over  our  heads,  just  above  the  tree-tops. 
After  circling  a  number  of  times,  they  alighted  over  beyond 
the  grove  in  an  overflowed  meadow  and  alder  swamp,  where 
they  are  accustomed  to  breed. 

These  sights  and  sounds  of  nature  diverted  our  minds, 
until  at  the  end  of  forty-five  minutes  we  were  startled  by 
a  loud,  incisive  note,  which  sounded  to  me  like  "  waup-p," 
ending  in  a  sort  of  snap,  the  whole  having  a  rising  inflection. 
Immediately  the  great  owl  glided  in,  and  with  an  upward 
swoop  alighted  on  a  limb  only  a  few  rods  from  the  nest,  in 
plain  sight  of  us.  Splendid  great  bird,  she  stood  two  feet 
high,  ear-tufts  erect,  eyes  round  and  blazing,  turning  the  fine 
head  uneasily  from  side  to  side.  In  about  a  minute  she  flew, 
gliding  downward  as  she  left  the  branch,  uttering,  just  as 
she  started,  another  "  waup-p,"  which  fairly  made  us  jump. 
Thus  she  flitted  majestically  from  perch  to  perch,  distrusting 
the  camera  and  focus-cloth,  which  certainly  made  a  very 
conspicuous  object  up  there  in  the  tree-top  against  the  sky. 
By  this  time  some  crows  had  discovered  the  owl,  and  were 
following  her  about,  swooping  at  her  head  now  and  then 
with  angry  caws.  The  great  bird  disdained  to  give  them  any 
attention,  save  that  now  and  then,  when  one  came  too  close, 
she  snapped  her  bill  angrily. 

During  one  of  her  flights  she  alighted  very  near  us.  Fear- 
ing discovery,  we  kept  perfectly  still,  and  she  did  not  detect 
us  through  the  branches.  Then  she  flew  to  a  perch  nearer  to 
the  nest,  then  farther  off,  but  suddenly  she  sailed  up  and 
alighted  on  a  forked  branch  close  to  the  nest,  when  I  imme- 
diately pulled  the  thread.  The  sun  was  slightly  overcast,  and 
I  had  set  the  shutter  for  about  a  fifth  of  a  second,  with  the 


330  WILD  WINGS 

single,  long-focus  member  of  the  doublet  lens.  Though  the 
shutter  did  not  seem  to  alarm  her,  she  was  not  quite  ready 
to  brave  the  camera,  so  she  flew,  and  it  was  not  until  the 
third  approach  that  she  actually  alighted  on  the  nest  and 
went  to  brooding.  All  this  had  taken  her  a  little  over  an 
hour.  I  did  not  attempt  as  yet  to  change  the  plate,  wishing 
her  to  learn  that  the  camera  was  harmless.  She  remained 
seven  minutes  over  her  young,  and  then  flew  off  of  her  own 
accord. 

Just  after  her  first  approach  to  the  nest,  her  mate  for  the 
first  time  made  himself  heard,  at  least  by  us.  At  the  western 
edge  of  the  grove,  farthest  away  from  roads  and  farms,  he 
began  to  hoot,  the  regular  cry  of  the  owl  which  is  usually 
heard,  —  "  too-whoo-o,  whoo,  whoo,"  —  soft  and  mellow  in 
tone,  yet  audible  at  a  considerable  distance.  Indeed,  while 
at  work  during  fall,  winter,  and  early  spring,  my  friend 
who  showed  me  the  locality  had  heard  three  different 
owls  hooting  at  once,  from  as  many  tracts  of  woodland. 
It  was  noon,  and  quite  bright,  with  considerable  snow  in 
patches  on  the  ground,  yet  the  owl  was  awake  and  hooting. 
For  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  hooted  once  or  twice 
a  minute. 

In  the  absence  of  the  female  owl  I  ascended  the  tree  again 
and  set  the  camera.  It  was  nearly  another  hour  before  she 
came  back,  and  twice  more  I  pulled  the  thread  on  her  when 
she  perched  conspicuously  near  the  nest.  I  believed  I  had 
secured  some  splendid  pictures.  We  reached  home  at  dark, 
and  after  supper  I  hurried  to  the  dark-room.  In  one  case 
only  half  the  owl  was  upon  the  plate,  the  camera  having 
moved,  and  in  the  others  the  bird  was  more  or  less  hidden 
by  the  branches. 

On  the  fifteenth  of  April  I  made  the  trip  again,  this  time 
alone.  It  was  quite  mild  and  bright.  Only  patches  of  snow- 


GREAT   HORNED   OWLS 

drifts  remained,  and  the  sprinkle  of  snow  which  had  fallen 
the  night  before  was  fast  disappearing.  A  neighbor's  boy 
went  with  me  to  the  nest ;  the  owl  was  on  it.  I  had  feared 

for   her    safety,   as    a    man    

had  been  chopping  not  far 
away,  and  I  was  afraid  that 
he  would  discover  her.  This 
was  one  case  to  show  that 
the  faculty  of  observation 
is  not  always  desirable ! 
First,  now,  I  wanted  a  flight 
picture.  So  I  aimed  the  re- 
flex camera  at  the  nest  and 
had  the  boy  kick  the  tree. 
Off  went  the  owl,  northward, 
as  she  always  did.  She  was 
very  quick  and  I  too  slow, 
for  I  got  only  part  of  her  "^~PING  OVER  T0  CARESS  HER  OWLET,, 
image  on  the  plate ! 

As  before,  I  set  the  camera  up  in  the  tree  ;  then  I  dismissed 
the  boy,  and  hid  in  my  bower,  keeping  tally  on  a  sheet  of 
paper  of  all  the  sights  and  sounds  of  nature.  This  time  there 
was  constantly  "  something  doing,"  and  for  three  hours  I  was 
busy.  Both  owls  were  hooting  and  flying  about,  the  crows 
were  excited,  Flickers  and  Hairy  Woodpeckers  were  drum- 
ming, drilling  their  nests,  and  making  love,  and  there  were 
other  happenings.  My  vigil  began  four  minutes  before  noon. 
In  thirteen  minutes  the  male  owl  began  his  tuneful  songs 
from  the  same  place  as  before.  It  took  the  female  forty-six 
minutes  to  begin  her  usual  whines,  or  "  waupps."  This 
ushered  in  her  usual  performance  of  "  monkeying,"  until 
at  the  end  of  an  hour  and  twelve  minutes  she  suddenly  — 
before  I  realized  it  —  had  alighted  on  her  nest,  and  I  scored 


332  WILD  WINGS 

my  next  camera-shot.  After  a  vigil  of  an  hour  and  seven 
minutes  I  had  another. 

If  there  were  any  question  as  to  whether  such  sport  is 
worth  while,  in  answer  I  would  point  to  the  picture  of  the 
old  owl,  every  marking  of  her  beautiful  plumage  distinct,  her 
feathers  fluffed  out,  stooping  over  to  caress  her  owlet,  which 
is  snuggled  down  behind  the  piece  of  rabbit  visible  on  the< 
edge  of  the  nest.  If  such  a  picture  of  such  a  bird  is  not 
thought  worth  a  day's  sport  in  the  open  air,  I  do  not  think 
much  of  the  sporting  blood  of  one  who  holds  such  opinion. 
The  exhilarating  drive  through  the  fine  woodland  and  moun- 
tain scenery,  the  bracing  air,  the  excitement  of  tree-climbing, 
the  lunch  with  keen  appetite  in  the  laurel  thicket,  the  sights 
of  unsuspecting  wild  creatures,  the  exciting  expectancy 
through  all,  —  even  these,  aside  from  the  picture,  make  a  glori- 
ous day's  outing. 

After  the  second  exposure  I  stole  out  of  the  grove  without 
alarming  the  brooding  owl  —  leaving  the  plate  unchanged 
-  and  summoned  the  youth  again  to  assist  me.  First  I  had 
him  climb  the  owl-tree,  slender  and  partly  rotten,  to  the  nest. 
There  was  only  one  owlet,  now  about  the  size  of  a  pigeon, 
covered  with  white  down,  save  for  incipient  yellowish  feathers 
on  back  and  wings.  With  it  was  a  rotten  egg  which  contained 
a  small  embryo.  Probably  it  had  become  chilled,  and  this 
episode  helps  account  for  the  fact  that  these  owls  often  raise 
but  one  owlet.  I  noticed  another  thing,  too.  The  nest  of 
sticks,  unusually  small  and  rough  in  the  first  place,  —  probably 
an  old  nest  of  a  pair  of  Broad-winged  Hawks  which  breed  in 
these  woods,  —  at  each  of  my  succeeding  visits  was  smaller 
than  before,  as  though  it  was  gradually  dropping  to  pieces. 
There  was  now  barely  enough  of  it  left  to  hold  the  owl  family 
and  its  stock  of  food,  which  latter  consisted  of  the  hind  quar- 
ters of  a  rabbit. 


GREAT   HORNED   OWLS 


333 


I  had  the  boy  bring  down  the  owlet  and  the  egg,  while  I 
climbed  the  neighboring  tree  for  the  camera,  and  then  photo- 
graphed the  owl  and  his  incipient  brother  or  sister  on  the 
ground.  Then  the  youth  replaced  the  owlet  in  the  nest,  and 
climbed  a  tree  close  by,  where  he  photographed  the  nest  and 
its  contents,  under  my  directions. 

To  finish  up  this  owl  business  in  good  shape,  one  more 
visit  was  necessary  ere  I  started  on  a  Southern  trip  on  May 
second.  The  week  before  was  stormy  and  unsettled  through- 
out, save  one  day  when  I  could  not  go.  Saturday  came,  the 
last  day  of  April,  — and  of  grace,  —  dark  and  forbidding,  with 
thick  fog.  It  was  then  or  never,  so  I  started  with  a  youth  for 
the  nest.  Gradually  the  fog  lifted,  and  the  sun  came  out  by 
the  time  the  long  drive  was  over.  The  crows  were  making 
a  tremendous  racket.  Confident  of  what  I  should  see,  I  came 
in  sight  of  the  tree.  There  was  just  a  mere  fragment  of  the 
nest  left,  no  owl  on  it,  not  even  the  owlet,  nor  was  the  latter 


"SQUATTING  IN  THE  LEAVES" 


334  WILD   WINGS 

on  any  branch.  I  felt  terribly  chagrined,  but  began  a  search 
for  it,  hoping  that  it  was  not  yet  devoured  by  foxes.  Good  ! 
Here  it  was  on  the  ground,  directly  under  the  nest,  squat- 
ting in  the  leaves.  First  I  photographed  it  just  as  it  lay,  then 
in  other  surroundings  where  I  placed  the  angry,  snapping 
little  fellow  to  suit  my  pleasure.  One  of  these  situations  was 
at  the  entrance  of  a  great  hollow  in  a  tree-trunk,  which  might 
well  have  been  used  as  the  nest-site  by  the  parents,  for  this 
species  sometimes  uses  hollow  trees  as  well  as  old  open  nests 
of  hawks  and  crows. 

The  next  move  was  to  replace  the  little  fellow  in  the  small 
remnant  of  nest  from  which  he  had  fallen,  and  photograph 
him  from  the  next  tree.  Then  I  screwed  up  the  camera  in  the 
old  place,  and  the  youth  and  I  went  into  hiding,  hoping  that 
the  mother  owl  would  come  back.  The  youth  soon  got  tired 
of  watching  for  owls,  and  went  sound  asleep.  Now  and  then 
the  old  owl  whined  in  the  distance,  but  as  time  dragged  on, 
it  was  evident  that  she  knew  that  the  young  one,  now  half- 
grown,  and  partly  feathered,  was  too  old  to  need  brooding. 
The  little  fellow,  thinking  he  was  unwatched,  acted  like  his 
own  little  self.  For  a  while  he  lay  in  the  sun  asleep.  His  head 
drooped  away  over  the  edge  of  the  nest,  and  I  did  not  know 
but  he  would  fall  out.  Then  he  stood  up  and  walked  about, 
and  stared  off  in  such  an  interested  and  spirited  attitude  that 
I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  pull  the  thread  and  take 
his  picture.  And  so  the  series  was  complete.  Before  I  left  the 
blind,  a  Broad-winged  Hawk  came  and  stood  on  a  tree  near 
by  in  a  dreamy,  contemplative  way  for  about  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  perhaps  pondering  upon  what  tree  she  and  her  mate 
had  better  build  their  nest. 

It  was  more  than  a  month,  after  returning  from  my  trip 
South,  before  I  again  visited  the  locality.  Not  a  single  stick 
of  the  nest  was  left  in  the  crotch.  I  understood  now  why  it 


GREAT   HORNED   OWLS  335 

was  that  five  years  before  I  had  found  a  Great  Horned  Owl 
brooding  an  owlet  in  the  bare  fork  of  a  tree,  where  there  was 
nothing  but  a  little  dirt  left  of  the  nest.  A  hunter  who  was 
with  me  had  seen  such  things  before,  and  thought  that  the 
owl  tore  down  her  nest,  as  the  young  grew  up,  to  make  it 
less  conspicuous.  Now  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  not  done 
purposely,  but  is  due  to  the  elements  and  the  slovenly  habits 
of  the  bird  in  using  old  rotten  nests  instead  of  building  for 
itself. 

I  also  learned  of  the  farther  career  and  tragedy  of  the  owl 
family.  The  owlet  had  again  fallen  out  of  the  nest,  and  was 
mobbed  continually  by  crows.  The  man  who  had  shown  me 
the  nest  found  the  youngster  back  in  the  woods  on  the  ground, 
several  hundred  yards  from  the  nesting-site.  Taking  it  to 
his  home  on  an  adjoining  farm,  nearly  a  half-mile  away,  he 
kept  it  in  a  chicken-coop,  and  then  let  it  out,  to  stay  about 
his  yard.  In  a  few  days  the  mother  owl  heard  her  little 
one,  which  "  peeped  "  somewhat  like  a  chicken.  Each  night 
thereafter  she  brought  it  .food,  usually  the  hind  quarters  of 
a  rabbit,  most  of  which  was  found  by  it  in  the  morning. 

After  a  while  it  strayed  back  into  the  woods,  and  another 
man,  a  neighbor,  found  it,  who  brought  it  to  his  place,  and 
kept  it  confined.  Each  night  or  early  in  the  morning  the 
devoted  mother  brought  food  to  her  fledgling.  One  morning, 
shortly  after  dawn,  she  alighted  on  the  ridge-pole  of  the  barn 
with  a  rabbit.  The  farmer  had  just  arisen,  and,  seeing  her, 
seized  his  gun,  and  brought  her  tumbling  to  the  ground.  The 
savage  little  orphan  he  kept  in  captivity,  and  finally  exchanged 
it  with  some  one  else  for  a  boat.  How  strange  it  is,  this  blood- 
thirsty instinct  in  so  many  men,  that  makes  them  eager  to 
kill  every  wild  thing  of  size,  whether  of  any  use  to  them 
or  not !  Sympathetic  observation  of  nature,  allied  with  the 
fine  new  sport  of  camera-hunting,  will  enforce  the  appeals  of 


336 


WILD   WINGS 


culture  and  religion,  and  help  to  drive  out  of  man  the  linger- 
ing remnants  of  savagery.  As  for  myself,  I  look  with  intense 
delight  to  many  owl-haunts  in  wild  forests  in  all  seasons, 
but  particularly  to  finding  the  nests  of,  and  above  all  to  the 
achieving  my  ideal  of  photographing  from  life,  the  Great 
Horned  Owl. 


"THERE  SAT  THE  BROODING  OWL,  HER  HEAD  SHOWING  ABOVE  THE  NEST" 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Alligator,  43,  137. 

Anhinga,  44,  68,  69,  78,  79,  100. 

Auk,  Great,  82. 

Razor-billed,  164-167. 
Avocet,  214. 

Beetle-head.    See  Plover,  Black-bellied. 

Bittern,  American,  230. 

Blue-bill,  230. 

Bluebird,  262. 

Bobolink,  23. 

Buzzard,  44,  75,  136,  240. 

Black,  103,  110-115. 

Turkey,  32,65,75,  103-110,  112. 

Chuck-Will's-Widow,  3. 
Coot,  American,  78. 
Cormorant,  no. 

Florida,  24,  25,  33,  37,  49,  68, 

72-74,  76-78. 
Crocodile,  52. 
Crossbill,  172. 

American,  or  Common,  235. 
Crow,  American,  no,  315,  324-326,  329, 

333.  334- 

Fish,  32,  65,  75,  76,  82. 
Curlew,  Eskimo,  207,  208,  210. 

Hudsonian,    or  Jack,    205,    209, 

210,  217,  218. 
Long-billed,  249. 
Pink.    See  Spoonbill,  Roseate. 
White.    See  Ibis,  White. 

Dog-fish,  189,  190. 

Dove,  Ground,  23. 

Dowitcher,  49,205,  210,  213,  214,  219. 

Duck,  235. 

Black,  230,  238,  329. 

Eider,  182. 

Florida,  106,  108. 

Scaup,  2,  3. 

Wood,  136. 

Eagle,  Bald,  3,  26,  32,  33,  50  117.  278,  279, 

289. 
Caracara,  21. 

Golden,  289,  290. 


Egret,  61,  62. 

American,  54,  58,  67,  72,  78,  134- 

149. 
Reddish,  37. 

Falcon,  Pigeon,  21. 
Flamingo,  38. 
Flicker,  310,  331. 

Gallinule,  32. 

Gannet,  153,  157,  159, 161,  165,  167,  168. 

Godwit,  31. 

Great  Marbled,  214,  249. 
Hudsonian,  213. 
Golden-eye,  American,  230. 
Goose,  Canada,  262. 
Grackle,  Rusty,  225. 
Grass-bird.    See  Sandpiper,  Pectoral. 
Gray-back.    See  Knot. 
Grebe,  no. 

Horned,  230,  235. 

Guillemot,  Black,  172,  174-180,  185. 
Gull,  Herring,  171,  172,  174,  181-183. 

Laughing,  32,  34,  49,  116,   125-128, 

130-133,  219. 

Haglet.     See  Shearwater. 
Hawk,  259-90. 

Broad-winged,  266,  279-281,  332, 

334- 

Cooper's,  268,  271,  273-278,  283. 
Ferruginous    Rough-legged,    288, 

289. 

Krider's,  283,  284. 
Marsh,  76,  259,  268,  271,  272,  287, 

288. 

Pigeon,  21. 
Red-shouldered,  42,  43,  261,  263, 

265-268,  275,  328. 
Red-tailed,  262-266,  283,  290,  295, 

322. 

Sharp-shinned,  280-283. 
Snail.    See  Kite,  Everglade. 
Sparrow,  283,  284. 
Swainson's,  283,  284,  287,  288. 
Heron,  34,  41,  50,  60-62,  77. 

Black-crowned  Night,  44,  141. 


340 


INDEX 


Heron,  Great  Blue,  30,  117,  128,  139. 
Great  White,  27-30,  32,  40. 
Little  Blue,  61,  68,  74,  75,  78,  139, 

140,  142. 
Louisiana,  25,  32,  37,  38,  44,  54, 

55»  58>  68>  70,  71,  73,  74,  78,  142. 
Snowy,  54,  57,  58,  145. 
Ward's,  30-32,  77,  103. 
Yellow-crowned  Night,  49,  141. 
Hog,  Razor -backed,  106. 

Ibis,  50,  52,  60,  62. 

White,  32,  49-59,  63,  67,  68,  70,  71, 

75'  77,  78. 
Wood,  43-46,  58,  77,  104. 

Jaeger,  197-199,  211. 

Parasitic,  26,  191. 

Pomarine,  191,  197,  200. 
Jiddy.    See  Jaeger. 

Killdeer,  214,  249. 
Kite,  Everglade,  76,  77. 
Kittiwake,  164,  165,  167,  168. 
Knot,  205,  206,  210,  214. 

Loon,  170. 

Man-o'-War,  Portuguese,  32. 
Man-o'-War  Bird,  19,  21,  24,  25,  33,  35,  37, 

38,  88,  91-98. 

Marsh  Hen.    See  Rail,  Clapper. 
Merganser,  Red-breasted,  230,  236. 
Mockingbird,  2. 

Mother  Carey's  Chicken.    See  Petrel. 
Mullet,  2,  3. 
Murre,  154,  157,  159,  164,  165,  167,  168. 

Briinnich's,  164,  169. 

Common,  164. 

Ringed,  164. 

Noddy,  86-88,  91,  92,  94-98. 

Osprey,  3,   117,   119,  136,   137,  260,  266, 

268,  278. 
Owl,  260,  291-336. 

Acadian,  294,  309-312. 

Barred,  263,  266,  291,  294,  296-302. 

Florida  Barred,  104,  107,  108. 

Florida  Screech,  3. 

Great  Horned,  I,  266,  292-297,  306, 

T  3I3~33^ 

Long-eared,  294,  303,  304. 


Owl,  Saw-whet,  294,  309-312. 

Screech,  292,  294,  303,  305-310,  312. 

Snowy,  294. 
Ox-eye,  205,  210,  217. 
Oyster -catcher,  120,  239-245. 

Panther,  Si. 

Paroquet,  149. 

Peep.    See  Ox-eye. 

Pelican,  American  White,  4,  41,  46,  49. 

Brown,   1-18,  21,  25,  32,  33,  44, 

49. 

Frigate.    See  Man-o'-War  Bird. 
Petrel,  164,  170,  190. 

Leach's,  164,  172,  183,  184,  186. 
Wilson's,  187,  191,  199. 
Phalarope,  207,  210. 

Wilson's,  214. 
Pharsalia,  32. 
Pigeon,  23. 

Sea.   See  Guillemot,  Black. 
Wild,  149. 
Plover,  Black-bellied,  32,49,  205,  206,  210, 

214,  219-222,  246. 
Golden,  206-214. 
Piping,   205,  210,    214,   232,   235, 

236,  246. 

Semipalmated,    or    Ring -necked, 
49,  205,  206,  210,  214,  217,  220, 
223,  232,  235-238,  246. 
Upland.    See  Sandpiper,  Bartram- 

ian. 
Wilson's,  120,  213,  220,  245-249, 

Puffin,  163,  164,  172. 

Rail,  Clapper,  117,  123,  125-128. 

Raven,  Northern,  184. 

Redstart,  22. 

Ring-neck.   See  Plover,  Semipalmated. 

Robin,  262. 

Sanderling,  205,  210,  212. 

Sandpiper,  49,  213,  215,  219,  224,  235. 

Bartramian,  205,  214,  248. 

Bonaparte's,  205,  214. 

Buff -breasted,  211. 

Least,  205,  210,  214,  225-229, 

235- 

Pectoral,  205,  210. 
Purple,  206. 

Red-backed,  206,  211,  214. 
Semipalmated,  205,  210,  214. 


INDEX 


Sandpiper,  Solitary,  206,  214. 

Spotted,  205,  210,  232,   236, 

249,  250. 

White-rumped,  205,  214. 
Scoter.  3,  211. 
Seal,  163,  181. 

Shearwater,  191,  193,  195,  198,  199. 
Cory's,  197. 

Greater,  187,  192,  193,  198. 
Sooty,  174,  192. 

Skimmer,  Black,  116,  119-122,  125-127. 
Snake-bird.    See  Anhinga. 
Snipe,  Red-breasted.    See  Dowitcher. 
Rock.    See  Sandpiper,  Purple. 
Wilson's,  203,  206,  225,  230-233, 

235- 
Sparrow,  Chipping,  262. 

Fox,  154. 

Song,  262. 

Spoonbill,  Roseate,  31,  54,  58-60,  75,  78. 
Stilt,  Black -necked,  248. 
Stork.   See  Ibis,  Wood. 
Swallow,  Barn,  262. 

Tree,  262. 

Tarpon,  50. 

Tatler,  Solitary.    See  Sandpiper,  Solitary. 
Teal,  230. 

Tern,  Arctic,  172,  184. 
Black,  126,  127. 


Tern,  Common,   122,   126,   127,   129,  172, 

184,  235. 
Forster's,  127. 

Gull-billed,  122,  130,  131,  133. 
Least,  34,  221,  247. 
•    Marsh,  122,  130,  131,  133. 

Sooty,  83-99. 
Thrush,  23. 

Bickneli's,  172,  184,  185. 
Water,  22. 
Turkey,  Wild,  106. 

Turnstone,  205,  209,  210,  213-215,  220. 
Turtle,  26,  136. 

Warbler,  23. 

Black-poll,  22,  184. 
Pine,  262. 

Whistler.    See  Golden-eye,  American. 
Widgeon,  Sea.    See  Guillemot,  Black. 
Willet,  125,  128,  205,  214,  249. 
Woodcock,  203,  225. 
Woodpecker,  no. 

Downy,  328. 

Hairy,  331. 

Red-bellied,  25. 

Yellow-legs,  Summer,  205,  210,  213,  214, 

217,  222,  224. 

Greater,  or  Winter,  205,  206, 
210. 


Electrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Honghton  &*  Co 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

This  book  is  clue  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


f  EB  13  1970 

. 

1 

MAR  4    1970  1  2 

LD  21-50m-6,'59 
(A2845slO)476 

General  Library 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 

